Things Undone
by Zennosh
Summary: AU. In the year 1980 the good and the bad met in a bloody battle. Shortly thereafter Dumbledore disappeared and Voldemort, for reasons unknown, slowed his attacks. Sixteen years later there are rumors which could mean the end of the war, for good or ill.
1. Prologue

**Prologue**

"Remus, look out!"

Remus Lupin turned to look behind him just in time to watch a high brick wall come crashing down. He dove for cover, the cries of crushed friend and foe alike calling out amongst the crash. Dust showered him, and for a moment he paused, just long enough to catch his breath. Then a flash of green light whizzed past his ear and something exploded behind him, propelling him back into action. He had no idea who'd called his name, or where any of his friends were. The colors of the spells being cast meant nothing; it was impossible to tell whether they were friendly fire or some Death Eater's Killing Curse. Either way, he avoided every flash of light he could, trying to find his way through the utter pandemonium before him.

He stupefied a few Death Eaters and helped some of the people he did recognize, but in the melee . . . No order existed in this. He tripped over something he didn't stop to investigate. It was best not to know. He had no idea where he meant to go, but he had to go somewhere. Suddenly, a sign from one of the buildings came crashing down just beside him and a familiar voice cried, "Lily!"

Remus whirled around. Through the cloud of plaster that rose from the fallen sign, he could just make out a woman's form, mercifully between the sign and the building it leaned against. A man with jet-black hair dove to her side. Remus ducked down under the sign, too.

Lily lay on the ground cradling her wand arm, which bled profusely through a long gash running lengthwise along it. James lifted her head to help her up into a sitting position. Remus knelt by her legs.

"Are you okay?" asked James desperately, checking the rest of her body for injuries. She nodded, and something hit the sign they were huddled behind with enough force to bring more plaster raining down upon them. James laid a protective hand on Lily's lower abdomen. She was five months pregnant and just starting to show. Remus took hold of her injured arm and examined the wound. It looked magical. It was too deep to be a shrapnel wound, and when he tried to heal it nothing happened.

"You shouldn't have come with me," said James as he gently rubbed the small bump on Lily's stomach with his thumb. Lily scoffed.

"Let you do something like this on your own? You're mad."

Another blow threatened to topple the sign over on them. Remus reached up to steady it, blinking against the dust. Lily suddenly cried out in pain, clutching at her stomach. When James spoke again his voice was rigid.

"You shouldn't be here," he said. Lily made a negative sign.

"No," she gasped, still holding her middle. "I'm staying with you."

"Stop being stupid, Lily, you're putting our baby in danger."

"You're putting his father in danger!"

James took her face into his hands strongly. "Damn it, Lily, if this was any other time, you know I'd have you right here with me," he said affectionately. She smiled at him weakly.

Before anyone could say anything, Lily gasped and doubled over. More explosions surrounded them. Remus looked to see if anyone knew their spot. It didn't seem so, and he thought that maybe he could get out without being noticed . . .

"Prongs, what does the other side of this sign say?" he asked.

"Ollivander's, why?"

"Ollivander's . . . James, we can get to the Leaky Cauldron from here," he said. James held tightly to Lily's hand and seemed to have an inner battle with himself. Finally, he looked away from his wife and shook his head.

"No. I have to stay."

Remus understood, but they had to move. He held Lily under her injured arm and helped her to her feet. She didn't protest, but she also didn't let go of James' hand until she had stood as much as possible in the small space.

"I'll see you," she said firmly. He nodded.

"Always."

James took off. Lily leaned her weight against Remus as they ducked out into the battle.

Remus led the straining Lily through an alley beside Ollivander's shop and they weaved their way through the back paths of Diagon Alley and into the heavily guarded side entrance to the Leaky Cauldron.

Upon seeing Remus, the guards stiffened, but when they saw Lily, her arm dripping with blood and her breath quick and shallow, they immediately stepped aside. Remus led her into the pub and up the stairs. Hogwarts' Madam Pomfrey greeted them on the first floor.

"What's happened to her?" she asked, taking Lily's arm from across Remus' shoulders.

"Her arm was hit by something, but she's pregnant and I'm afraid she—"

Madam Pomfrey made a derisive noise and steered Lily into an unoccupied room. "She shouldn't be here! This is madness. We'll put her here and I'll set her right."

A young, blonde witch poked her head in the door, her face red with urgency. "Poppy, we're going to need restraints on that poor bloke who—"

"Get one of the Mediwizards!" interrupted Madam Pomfrey, taking the shorn sleeve off Lily's robe. "I'm busy here!"

The blonde looked frightened, but she nodded and disappeared. Remus watched as Lily's breathing grew deeper and less labored.

"Is she going to be all right?" he asked.

"Yes, she should be fine. It's the stress that did it. Of all things . . . a pregnant woman here! In a battle! I'll have words with her husband if he makes it through, Merlin willing."

"It was my choice," snapped Lily. "Now leave me alone, I'm better."

Madam Pomfrey pushed her back down in the bed. "No, you don't. You're staying here. The Death Eaters might claim this generation, but they won't get the next one as long as I have something to say about it."

With that she dabbed a bright green potion onto Lily's wound, gave Remus the bottle, then swept off to deal with her other patients.

They could still hear the fight raging outside. When Dumbledore had gotten wind of Voldemort's plan to take over Diagon Alley, most of the Order of the Phoenix had been sent to set up sentry. But it had been a trap. The Death Eaters were already waiting for them.

He raised a hand to wipe at his eyes as he remembered the slump of his friend's body against his shoulder. Peter had been so stupid. Why did he ever join with the Death Eaters?

A great blast rocked the foundations of the Leaky Cauldron, breaking Remus' trance. Something bad had happened.

Everything remained eerily quiet for a few moments before there was suddenly a rush of footsteps and a barrage of voices downstairs. Someone pounded up the staircase and past their room. No one else followed, but a few moments later, he was back.

"They've got us outnumbered," he gasped, standing in the doorway. "We can't hold them back. Dumbledore says to . . ."

"Retreat," finished Remus grimly. The young man in the door nodded, then ran on to tell others.

Remus looked at Lily, who looked absolutely petrified. She thought of James . . . and so did Remus.

The noise downstairs only grew in intensity as wizards rushed out into the safety – how bizarre did that sound? – of Muggle London.

Remus helped Lily off the bed and she made it down the stairs of her own accord. Even though he knew he wouldn't find them, Remus' eyes scanned the crowd for signs of James or Sirius, and before he could stop it, he was swept out through the door and away from the possibility of finding his friends.

The two of them stood close to the pub's entrance while different Order members cast memory charms on unsuspecting Muggles passing by. Aside from the mass of bloody witches and wizards dressed in robes, it might as well have been a normal day here. It was almost like stepping through a curtain from a nightmare back into reality. Except that this was the dream, and the nightmare was the reality.

James and Sirius came flooding through the door as the crowd started to thin. Wizards were Apparating all around them, getting as far away from the battle site as possible. James caught sight of Lily and came rushing to her, Sirius not far behind. The two of them clasped hands and looked at each other grimly. They both thought the same thing: The Death Eaters have taken Diagon Alley. What do we do now?

--

Months passed, and the battle now known as the Great Defeat had dropped morale low among the Order of the Phoenix and the wizarding community on the whole. Remus sat on the Potters' sitting room couch fingering a half-empty wine glass thoughtfully. Sirius was on the floor taunting Lily and James' six-month-old son Harry with a tiny flying broomstick. Remus blinked and looked over at Sirius, who was now watching Harry attempt to stick the toy in his mouth.

"Don't, Sirius, he'll choke on it," he admonished. Sirius took the toy away and both he and Harry gave Remus the same shamed look. Remus laughed and rolled his eyes, sipping his wine. Lily and James came into the room, Lily bearing another wine bottle and James placed a large plate of iced Christmas biscuits on the table before the sofa.

"How is the Department of Magical Law Enforcement?" Remus asked any of the other three adults, reaching for a biscuit.

"Recovering. It's hard, you know. Losing most of the Aurors to . . ."

Remus nodded. There was no need to explain. The size of the Order of the Phoenix had been reduced by nearly half after the Great Defeat. Dumbledore had grown uncharacteristically silent since, contributing very little to what meetings the Order got to have. Dark circles had appeared under his eyes, and he seemed to bear a great guilt. He spent a lot of time to himself, though he was always visible. Some of the wizarding community was angry at him, blaming the casualties of a few months ago on him. But to those who remained loyal, which was still a large number, he continued to be a guiding and inspiring force.

They sat in silence, watching Harry giggle as Sirius pretended to pull Sickles from behind his ears. The fire burning gaily behind them made a pleasant backdrop for the scene of warmth and innocence. As they watched, however, the fire turned bright green and everyone stiffened. Sirius scooped up Harry and sat back from the flames, just in case someone wanted through . . .

Frank Longbottom's head appeared in the fire. Remus relaxed, but only slightly. The look in Frank's eyes said there was something terribly wrong.

"What's up, Frank?" asked James.

"I tried your houses, but no one was home," said Frank, addressing Remus and Sirius. "I thought you might be here. All of you, I mean."

His voice was strange, stuck on something. He cleared his throat a few times before James asked him, "Is there something wrong?"

Frank blinked, as if he couldn't quite believe what he was going to say. "Well . . . James, Sirius, Remus, Lily . . . Dumbledore's gone."

"What do you mean? Is he dead?"

Frank's shoulders shrugged up next to his ears. "I don't know. But he's gone. No one can find him and . . ."

"And what, Frank?" demanded Sirius.

"Fawkes is gone, too."

Remus' heart fell. Fawkes was gone? That meant that Dumbledore was either dead, or had really gone somewhere . . . left, for a long time, perhaps. Why would he leave? What purpose did that serve?

"Well, I just . . . thought you ought to know," said Frank lamely. He didn't know anything, which was frustrating to everyone involved. No one knew what to say.

Silence lasted for quite a while before Frank left. Afterward, the air in the Potters' sitting room was heavy with questions. Questions, Remus knew, that would have to wait to be answered.

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A/N: Here's that explanatory Author's Note I promised. Things Undone is set in 1996, Harry and co.'s sixth year, but in a completely, utterly alternate universe. Because of this battle in 1980, many things didn't happen that were supposed to. Namely, the prophecy. So, really, this is an experiment in what would happen if the prophecy had never happened. I won't explain the whole plot to you here (besides, wouldn't a good author be able to fill in any holes just through narrative?), but I just thought I would introduce you to it, since the summaries on the front page can only be so long. This is a first version (even though it's a twenty-sixth version in my head) to be posted, so it will go through many changes once I finish it, put it up, and take all the feedback from you guys! Thank you all so much for reading . . . feedback is very much appreciated!

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Disclaimer: All property above and herein belongs to J.K. Rowling, Scholastic, Bloomsbury, Warner Brothers, and anybody else that has a piece of the Harry Potter Universe. No money is being made and no credit is being taken. Anything you don't recognize is probably mine, although it might not be, so let's just say I don't own any of it. :-)

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	2. A Very Normal Holiday

As dusk falls, a nation bound near waxing solstice bears a Dragon and an Heir . . .

**Chapter One**

**A Very Normal Holiday**

Harry tumbled through the kitchen fireplace at Potter Estate, flecks of green in his cheeks, and nearly landed on top of his younger sister. No matter how many times he'd traveled by Floo, he would never get used to that queasy feeling.

"Mind your sister, Harry. Wouldn't want to ruin the pretty one of the family."

"James Avery Potter, stop teasing your son."

"Terribly sorry, won't happen again."

Harry looked upward to the smiling faces of his parents, both grinning madly at him. James held out a hand to help him up. He turned and addressed all of his children.

"Okay, unpack. And _try_ to do it without magic. Follow the rules just this once . . ."

Harry smiled to himself, picked up his duffel, and followed his sisters up the stairs. They took that "just this once" comment very seriously. The familiar smell of violets, something baking, and an air of magic filled his nose as he trekked up a second flight of stairs to his turret room.

Inside his room it looked very nearly like Gryffindor Tower: crimson hangings lined the walls, heavy velvet drapes hung around his oak four-poster bed, and aside from the various Quidditch posters and classic brooms lining the walls, the general feel of the stone room was that of the common room back at Hogwarts. That was probably why Harry liked Hogwarts so much. He smiled to himself.

"I don't know what I'd do without my room," he said to himself, pitching his duffel bag in an overstuffed chair by the eastern window.

"Sleep with your sisters, I suppose."

Harry nearly jumped out of his skin before he realized where the voice originated.

"Hallo, again, Sirius," he said, plopping down in front of the green Floo fire where his godfather's disembodied head was floating.

"Hallo yourself. You give your house-elves too much work, you do," said Sirius, indicating the yet-to-be-unpacked duffel. "Best be careful or that Hermione of yours might have them all accepting clothes by next holiday."

Harry rolled his eyes. "Did you need something, Sirius?"

"No, just checking in, make sure you got home safely, that sort of thing. Nose clean, Harry."

Harry nodded. "Of course."

Sirius winked at him. "Pass it on."

With that, the cheeky grin and floppy black hair disappeared along with the rest of him, the fire fading soon after, and Harry was alone again. Finally he could enjoy some quiet after the long, noisy, very normal family holiday. He tucked his feet up underneath him and stared blankly into the empty fireplace, his mind slowly drifting away on the warm, lazy currents of air meandering through his room.

That is, until a clamor beneath him tore him from his peace. He growled inwardly. Sisters. Very likely, Carolyn had done something to destroy Elizabeth's room in the whole three minutes they had been home, and judging by the intensity of the screams, 'something' was quite horrid. Harry sighed and tried to think of something to serve as a distraction from the lungpower competition downstairs. Settling on the tin of Floo powder on the mantle, he got up on his knees and pitched a bit of it into the fireplace. Green flames kicked up immediately, and Harry quickly thrust his head into them.

"The Burrow," he shouted as his head entered the flames, steadying himself for the unpleasant sensation that always followed. A minute of swirling and some motion sickness later his vision cleared and the Weasleys' kitchen swam before his eyes. Mrs. Weasley stood near the sink, briskly directing a few pots and pans to clean themselves; she seemed hardly startled to see him.

"Well, hello, Harry! We just got the owl that you'd be home this afternoon. How was France?"

"Fine," said Harry. "Is Ron at home?"

"No, he's off somewhere with Ginny, I think. I'll tell him you called."

"Thanks, Mrs. Weasley."

Harry pulled his head out of the fire and watched the flames swirl back to normal. The tempest downstairs hadn't abated yet. _What on earth is going on? _he thought. A huge impact shook the floor and the sound of glass shattering resounded outside of his door. Sick of the noise (that, and he'd wanted to ride for days), Harry reached into his closet and pulled out his Firebolt. One contented sigh of relief later, Harry kicked off his floor and flew through the open window and out onto the manor grounds.

---

"Caro-LYYYYYYNNNNN!"

Elizabeth watched furiously as Carolyn giggled, waving a hand to slam her bedroom door closed, and pounded loudly up to her door, lights flickering as she passed. She could hear Carolyn laughing harder behind the locked door as she beat it with her fists.

"CAROLYN AELYSE POTTER IF YOU DON'T LET ME IN I'M GOING TO SCREAM!"

"You're already screaming!" called Carolyn through the door. Elizabeth let out a frustrated growl and heard something inside of the room burst. Carolyn's laughter increased. Eyes narrowed, Elizabeth's vision went blurry as all the magic in her body pushed out of her pores. Suddenly hinges popped and with a great groan of ancient wood forced apart by invisible hands, the door flew open. Red in the face and fuming, Elizabeth simply stood in the doorway and glowered. Carolyn's eyes widened and for a moment looked impressed, but then she continued laughing so uproariously that she rolled backward off her bed and landed in a heap on the floor. Elizabeth, frozen in the doorway, just let things shatter.

"If I find another rat, snake, spider, roach, doxy, or anything else that will damage _my_ things and _my_ health in _my_ bedroom or any of _my_ belongings," she seethed, "I _will_ see to it that you are severely punished."

Carolyn snorted, poking her head up over her bed. "What'll you do to me?"

"Break your broomstick in half."

A flicker of fear passed behind Carolyn's eyes. "You wouldn't."

Elizabeth raised her eyebrows and crossed her arms superiorly. "Care to test me?"

"You don't have the powers to do that. You couldn't even if you tried."

Elizabeth snapped. She dove for the closet door as Carolyn went flying to protect it. Carolyn, much closer to the ground than Elizabeth, managed to throw her shoulder into her gawky fourteen-year-old sister's knees, and Elizabeth tumbled headlong into the bureau. For a moment she saw stars and rubbed the spot she knew would be a painful knot within minutes, but only for a second. She quickly retaliated, grabbing onto Carolyn's ankles and pulling her away from the door. Carolyn reached around and clutched at anything she could while Elizabeth leaned all of her weight on her sister's freckled calves. Finally, Carolyn's fingers found a hold in a chunk of Elizabeth's long black hair. Immobilized for the moment, their struggle came to words.

"Let go of me!"

"Apologize!"

"Leave my broomstick alone!"

"Leave my books alone!"

"Get off my legs!"

"Let go of my hair!"

"Prat!"

"Git!"

"Know-it-all!"

"Lowlife!"

"Snob!"

"Slytherin!"

"What's all this?"

Elizabeth instantly froze, and Carolyn went limp below her. The stern tone in her mother's voice was not at all unfamiliar (unfortunately), but most decidedly unwelcome, to say the least. There was fire in her green eyes, her eyebrows were nearly lost in her hair, and Elizabeth slowly felt her anger melt into anxiety.

"Well?" asked Lily. No one spoke. "If no one answers, I'll assume you both deserve the same punishment."

The dam broke, and Elizabeth's words began tumbling out of her mouth at the same rate as her sister's. But Elizabeth had the quicker wit, and Carolyn's protest was lost in the jumble of Elizabeth's righteous anger.

"She's always in my things, and never leaves me alone. There's no privacy, I haven't gone a day without discovering something else nasty hiding in my clothes, and she's always giggling incessantly in here. I've tried and tried to get her to listen, but she never does, and this was the last straw. She started it, there were spiders in my trunk that turned out to be all the books I brought with me and only two people had access to my trunk other than me and I _know _Harry didn't do it!"

"-- and she needs to lighten up!"

Lily looked contemplative. Elizabeth awaited the blow she knew would come.

"You both need to learn a way to get along," she said. "Carolyn, you will start Hogwarts this year and I expect you to be mature enough to handle living away from home. If you cannot restrain yourself and _behave_ yourself without being monitored every minute of the day, I do reserve the right to either keep you home another year or remove you from the school and make you wait until next year to start up again."

Elizabeth watched Carolyn turn white beneath her freckles. Being held back from starting Hogwarts a year was the ultimate humiliation, especially for someone from a long-standing, prominent wizarding family like the Potters'. She felt sorry for Carolyn despite herself.

Lily was not through.

"And I would have expected more from you, Elizabeth. You have always been very mature for your age, and I thought you might have learned some control by now." Lily took a look at the room, taking account of all the damage for the first time. "Perhaps we should have sent you back to the Longbottoms' this summer. Judging by the state of this room, you let your anger get the better of you." Elizabeth's face burned with shame as she followed her mother's eyes around the chaos Carolyn's room had become. Bits and pieces of glass from a shattered beginner's potion kit littered the floor. Carolyn's trunk lid was thrown open as if a bomb had been set off inside it: clothes, toys, and books – one of which read _Parshina Pickle's Pranks to Pickle Even the Most Precocious Prats_ – lay in strange patterns around the room. Madam Pickle peeked gingerly around the edge of her book cover, expecting another earth-shattering outburst from Elizabeth. Even the Qudditch players from the posters coating the walls edged nervously back into the borders of their frames, exchanging uneasy glances with one another. The one picture of the family in the room confirmed Elizabeth's sinking feeling that she had gone too far as her mother's image was a black and white twin of the one standing before her, and even her father bore a look that was more admonishment than amusement. Her own figure stared at the nightmare and shot her a sympathetic glance from behind dark fringe that hung too low over her forehead. The miniature Carolyn was laughing her head off while staying just out of arm's reach of miniature Elizabeth.

"As for your punishments," Lily continued, "Carolyn will relieve the house-elves of cleaning the kitchens for a week -- _without_ magic of any sort." She paused, hand on hip, as Carolyn began to protest and didn't resume until she trailed off weakly. "Also set everything right in your sister's room." Carolyn exhaled noisily, extricated herself from Elizabeth, and threw herself on the furthest corner of her bed, suppressing her tantrum for the moment. "_You_, Elizabeth, will clean up this mess, donate part of your allowance to pay for the things you've broken, and spend the next two weeks before term at the Longbottoms'."

Elizabeth was crestfallen. Another humiliation. She would be reduced to spending days with children Carolyn's age and younger reviewing things she learned long ago. It wasn't uncommon to spend at least a few days the summer before finishing Hogwarts back in Magick School, but as a punishment it didn't hold the same value. At least she could see Jonas. It was a small bright side, but at this point she would take anything she could get.

"I suggest you get to work," said Lily, leaving them with a last stare and a heavy silence. Once their mother's footsteps descended the stairs, Elizabeth shook the tangles out of her hair and stood up indignantly.

"If you don't mind, I'd like to get my work finished," she said haughtily. Carolyn stuck out her tongue.

"Don't break anything else," she said, stomping heavily out of the room and slamming the door behind her, knocking a framed picture of Irish National Seeker Aidan Lynch from his place of honor. Elizabeth stifled laughter as he was almost chucked unceremoniously from his broom. Sobering, she looked around her and sighed, watching a potion drip onto the floor. Cleaning up would be so much easier if she could just control her temper.

Or it would be even easier if Carolyn would stop trying to invent potions all the time. She could tell by the mustard yellow substance dripping from a shelf onto the hardwood floor that she had been at trying to create a new scouring concoction. As if the existing cleaning products weren't good enough, Carolyn had to go and make something that was, at present, burning a hole in the floor. Elizabeth blew her fringe out of her face and cracked her knuckles.

"_Reparo_," she said, waving her hand. The potion evaporated and the hole in the floor closed itself up. A quick sweep of the room took care of the rest of the spilled potions, then she swept the bits of broken glass into a rubbish bin, keeping tally of the number of vials she would have to buy in case Carolyn decided she wanted a few more.

A soft sound of something swooping past the window caught her attention. Outside in the mid-afternoon light she saw her brother, dipping and diving on his broomstick. She smiled as she watched him. He was wonderful in the air; Quidditch was probably his best skill. Suddenly, he nearly stopped in midair. For a moment she wondered what was wrong until he twisted around and went into a vertical dive. Elizabeth rushed to the window to watch him. At the very last moment, merely inches from the ground, he pulled himself up and turned a corkscrew parallel with the earth before soaring back into the air again.

"Wronski Feint," she said to herself. She pulled up the window and stuck her head outside.

"Beautiful dive, Harry!" she said. Harry was startled, but he looked at her and smiled.

"Thanks." He turned his broom and flew up alongside the house. "What was all that noise about earlier?"

Elizabeth rolled her eyes. "The usual: sibling rivalry, that sort of thing. Carolyn destroys my things, I do the like in return. Sometimes I wonder if we'd fight like this if she was a boy."

"Probably. It's just your personalities that clash. You would miss her if she was gone." He closed his eyes as a particularly strong breeze ruffled his hair. "Tell mum and dad where I am, okay? I'll be in later."

Elizabeth nodded and he flew off. She closed the window and carried the rubbish down to the kitchen, relaying Harry's message to her mother on the way. She passed Carolyn on the stairs coming back up. Carolyn stuck her tongue out, but Elizabeth didn't do anything. It was best to take the high road with her.

After putting the bin back in Carolyn's room, Elizabeth went back down the hall to her own bedroom. She sighed a little and pulled her long, black hair out of its bun. Before she set to work unpacking her things (which were now spider-free), she plaited her hair and swapped out her summer clothes for a set of blue pajamas. She carefully and neatly piled the dirty laundry in its basket, then put away her books, smiling at each of them lovingly.

Her room was very comfortable. The bookshelf was located conveniently between the large, cushioned window seat and her favorite perch in the whole room: a massive, overstuffed, worn, forest green armchair that was actually nearly as old as the manor itself. It was big enough for her to curl up in with a good book in her lap, and she'd fallen asleep in it many times. This was the place she waited all year at Hogwarts to come home to.

Her fingers lingered on the spines of her books. Finally, she pulled out her favorite history tome (_The Rise and Fall of the Dark Lord Grindelwald_) and curled up in her favorite chair.

Darkness began to fall smoothly and silently. Elizabeth's eyes grew heavy and the words swam across the page. Her mind began to drift into images of the great Albus Dumbledore, the romantic figure, clad all in white, challenging the great Black Wizard himself on Hogsmeade Plain outside the Hogwarts Grounds among crowds of supporters, ready at the first sign to fling curses at each other.

There was a very, very young Minerva McGonagall among a crowd of rebels. Beside her was a man who looked very much like her father she knew from old photographs: her great-grandfather Julius. The crowd was silent. Dumbledore called out a spell that lit the entire crowd with a blinding light . . .

The faces of the crowd melted away. Hogwarts melted away. The scene swirled around Dumbledore and suddenly they were in Diagon Alley. The Great Defeat. She could see the face of her father, standing there in robes black as night, her mother beside him. Sirius, Remus, and the hero, Peter Pettigrew, stood there, too. Dumbledore was high above the action, watching from a room in the Leaky Cauldron, McGonagall at his side.

There was another bright flash of light and suddenly they were in the Great Hall at Hogwarts. She stood facing the largest group of Death Eaters she had ever imagined. Harry stood beside her, Jonas was behind her, and Hermione, Ginny, Neville, and Ron flanked them all. Everyone she knew . . . except the boy on her left. He was unfamiliar . . . his blonde hair . . . his posture . . . she could not see his face . . .

The Death Eaters advanced. Elizabeth's heart was in her mouth when suddenly a great rush of wind blew her hair away from her face and Harry was pricking her arm with his fingernails. She reached up a hand to make him stop . . .

Elizabeth's eyes flew open. A chilly wind was blowing around her room, having blown her window open. She was going to rise to close it, but then realized the pricking from her dream was still there. An owl was trying to get her attention by sticking its claws into her right arm. A letter was tied to its leg. She removed the letter and sent the owl on its way.

_Lizzie_ it was addressed informally in Jonas's looping cursive. Elizabeth smiled to herself and opened the letter.

_Dear Elizabeth,  
I know we just saw each other, but I thought I would write you and tell you we are home safe. That, and Mum told me to. Neville's being a prat, but when that changes, I think I might drop dead. Dad's got me a potions set like Neville's, probably hoping I'm young enough to get into the N.E.W.T. class by next year. You'll have to come over and we'll invent some potions to rival Carolyn's. Well, Mum says I have to read my textbooks now. Ugh, it's History of Magic tonight. Maybe if I know everything before September 1st I can sleep through Binns' class. Fat chance, I know.  
Yours,  
Jonas  
__Oh! I forgot. Mum told me that you're coming to the Magick School for the next few weeks. Don't worry, I'll try and save you as much as possible._

Elizabeth laughed and folded the letter back into the envelope. Jonas was always very good at making her smile. They were cradle mates and had grown up together. When they were Sorted their first year, Jonas had gone first, then he waited for her before he sat down at the table. He had always been her best friend.

Romance had yet to become an issue between the two of them. Strangely enough, Elizabeth was never really interested in anyone, and Jonas seemed to not be, either. She was pretty certain that would change in this, their fourth year. Jonas was a sweet person. The girls would notice him soon enough. She just wasn't really ready to share him with anyone.

The wind swirling through her room by way of the still-open window was making her a bit cold. Remembering how late it probably was, she crossed to the window, closed and locked it, then climbed into her bed, waving a hand to shut off the lights.

Elizabeth awoke the next morning dreading the day ahead of her. Reluctantly, she shoved her bedclothes aside and rolled out onto the floor. She gathered her clothes for the day and trudged to the bathroom she shared with her sister. As she passed Carolyn's room she peeked inside to see if she was awake yet. She wasn't, so Elizabeth said a silent cheer and dashed into the lavatory to have a quick bath.

She had just finished when she heard her mother's voice amplified throughout the girls' hall reverberating, "It's time to wake up, girls! Elizabeth, Carolyn, up!" Elizabeth couldn't help resisting going into Carolyn's room and tossing her covers across it as she passed.

"Rise and shine, little sister!" she said in the most sickeningly sweet voice she could manage. Carolyn groaned and shot a death glare at Elizabeth, who had to laugh.

They made their way downstairs to the kitchen to travel to the Longbottoms' at a quarter to nine, Carolyn running a comb through her hair on the way.

"You're always behind, Carolyn," said Elizabeth.

"Shut it, you," she said, tucking her comb into her back pocket.

Their mother was waiting for them at the grate.

"Have everything you need?" she asked. The girls nodded. "All right, off you go."

Carolyn went first, then Elizabeth pitched her Floo powder in and was whisked away to the Longbottoms.

It had been so long since she'd been there for Magick School that she had forgotten what it was like. Ten or so kids of all sorts of ages were scuttling around like maniacs, some accompanied by parents chatting with Mrs. Longbottom, others slightly older and thinking themselves very independent. Carolyn parted ways with Elizabeth the moment they arrived, which Elizabeth couldn't have been more thankful for. Elizabeth caught Alice's eye, and the kind faced blonde witch winked at her. Elizabeth smiled back and settled in to suffer through.

It was a few hours later and Elizabeth was trying very hard to think of an excuse to see if Jonas was at home. Actually, she wondered why he hadn't lived up to his promise and come to rescue her yet. However, the next moment her irritation melted away into mirth.

"Swish and flick, Carolyn, swish and flick!"

Elizabeth and her classmates all jumped as the feather Carolyn was supposed to be levitating burst into flames. Alice waved her wand and the flames extinguished, and Carolyn's cheeks turned a dusty pink. Elizabeth held back a snicker behind her hand.

"All right, I think we've had enough wand-waving for today," said Alice, putting her own wand back in her belt. "Take a bit of a break."

Elizabeth sat back on the sofa and watched as a sheepish Carolyn swept the remains of her feather into the rubbish bin and received a comforting word from Alice. Her sister truly lived up to her reputation as a redhead. She knew from years at the Longbottoms' that after break would come hand work, then about an hour of control. The Magick School operated under the theory that developing one's magic was the key to controlling it. Most of the time was spent with a wand in their hands, learning to channel power into the thin piece of wood. The purpose of a wand was different for these children. For most witches and wizards, wands were used to draw power out, channel it, and direct it. Without them, most witches and wizards couldn't even perform simple spells. But for the Potters and a few other wizarding children, the wand was more of an outlet, a real tool that they had to work at to concentrate just enough of their magic through to complete the spell. And since the wand work required so much honing of their power, they also were taught how to work with their hands, so they didn't lose the natural ability granted to them.

They also tried to teach the very exact difference between hand magic and wandless magic. For most wizards, wandless magic is an inherent trait. They can perform spells without a wand and sometimes without an incantation if threatened or pressured. But those born with hand magic abilities actually could wield magic with their hands. Elizabeth took notice of her own as she sat and waited for a reason to escape.

"You're melancholy," said Alice, sitting next to Elizabeth. Elizabeth shrugged. "Oh, it can't be all that bad. It's only two weeks, and besides, we get to spend more quality time together. You know Headmistress McGonagall hates it when you use your hands instead of your wands."

There was a crash upstairs and both Elizabeth and Alice started. Alice sighed. "That'll be Jonas again. If they ever invent a charm to prevent clumsiness . . ."

Elizabeth stopped Alice from getting up. "I'll go," she said. "If it's something significant, I'll call you." Alice nodded.

"All right."

With a great sigh of relief Elizabeth had to try hard to keep herself from skipping up the stairs. Free at last! Jonas had a good tongue lashing approaching if he didn't come up with a good excuse for not getting her away sooner.

The source of the crash was immediately apparent when she reached the landing: a soft muttering was coming from Jonas' room just down the hall, and a few bits of broken glass lay on the floor. Elizabeth picked her way through them to Jonas' room.

He was kneeling on the floor among the glass, muttering to himself and making strange sweeping motions with his hand above it. She couldn't really tell what he was trying to do.

Then it hit her. He was trying to use hand magic.

"Come on, you stupid . . . You're useless . . . useless, useless, useless, useless . . ."

He kept repeating it. It was so sad to watch that Elizabeth was tempted to move the glass for him. But she knew that wouldn't help. It also wouldn't help him to have her see this, so she knocked on the frame of his door.

Jonas jumped to his feet, scattering glass across the floor. Elizabeth smiled at him.

"Can I come in?"

Jonas shrugged. "Sure, just be careful."

Elizabeth crossed cautiously to him and sat on his bed. "What happened?" she asked.

"My Gryffindor lion," he said mournfully. "I . . . dropped it."

Well, _that_ certainly wasn't the whole story, but Elizabeth didn't pursue it. Instead she changed the subject.

"I got in trouble," she said, "so I'm going to be spending the next two weeks back here. Well, I guess you knew that."

Jonas sat beside her. "It's not so bad. At least you're learning things."

"But I already know it all," she blurted out. Jonas winced beside her, and she softened her tone. "It just makes me so angry that I have to come back here. I'm fourteen years old. I don't need this . . . I just . . . lose my temper sometimes."

Jonas snorted. "Sometimes? I think there were six detentions you were in because you lost your temper and destroyed something valuable of someone's at school last year. _My_ personal favorite was Professor Trelawney's crystal ball last October."

"The old bat deserved it. Why I ever bothered with Divination is beyond me."

"Obviously, since you don't possess the Inner Eye to see why." Elizabeth gave him a good-natured look.

"You're lucky, you know," she said. "You don't have to deal with this."

"Oh, so lucky," said Jonas dryly. "Lucky to always be ten steps behind your brother, to be looked upon as the odd one out of the family, never living up to anyone's expectations . . ."

"But wand magic is natural for you. It's so difficult to make the magic that wants to come out of your fingers come out of your wand. Why do you think they created the Magick School? It's not natural for us." Jonas still looked crushed. "And it's not a matter of better, Jonas. It's a matter of different. You're wonderful with a wand! Some people are just given different gifts than others."

"You're lucky all of your siblings are the same."

"You don't think _that's_ unnatural? Statistically, hand magic is only supposed to occur once in a family every thirty generations or so. There's something very unnatural about the Potter siblings."

Jonas was silent. Elizabeth kicked gently at some glass on the floor. Rarely did they have silences like these. Usually Jonas was a bubbling force of energy that would babble on and on about some new book he'd read, or his wondrous advancement in the world of broomstick riding. This was a side of Jonas that was rare but very intense. He felt inferior, and she knew that sometimes being best friends with her was the hardest thing he could do.

The glass still lay on the floor. Unconsciously, Elizabeth was about to wave a hand over it to fix it, but after a second thought and a glance at Jonas she pulled her wand from her sash and pointed it. "_Reparo_," she said, and suddenly there was a glass lion figurine lying in its place.

"There, now we don't have to worry about cleaning it up," she said, putting it back on top of his bureau. She sat back on his bed and nudged him gently, trying to make him smile. He managed a weak one, but she knew it wasn't something he was going to forget easily.

"So how did you knock over that lion?" she asked. He blushed slightly.

"I was packing for school, and . . . and I . . . I mean to say . . . I was trying to reach the top shelf and I bumped it with my elbow."

His hesitation told her he was lying again, but she didn't press him. "Well, how is your flying going?"

He groaned. "Terribly. I've never had a chance, and I have even less of a chance this year."

"Why? We've lost most of our team, you should have _more_ of a chance this year."

"Yeah, and that's why I'm going to fail miserably. I have less of a chance when there's more of a chance."

Elizabeth was growing weary of his defeatist attitude. She jumped up off the bed, held out her hand and said, "Well, then, let's see your skills. I'm not that good on a broom, either, but maybe watching my clumsiness will make you feel better about yourself."

Jonas looked indecisive, then reluctantly took her hand and followed her out back. They stopped at the broom shed and pulled out two old Comet Two-Sixty models that they used for practice. The best thing about the Longbottoms' was that it was surrounded by woods for acres, so the chance of a Muggle spotting them at Quidditch was unlikely. Jonas took off, rather shaky at first, but he found his bearings and could at least stay on his broom.

Which is more than you could say for Elizabeth. She wasn't a terrible flier, but she really didn't like it. She found herself struggling for balance and it took her a full five minutes to become steady in the air. Jonas was laughing as she worked to maintain her shifty balance.

"What did I tell you? At least you can stay on your broom!" She breathed for a moment, steady for just a split second, then she slipped sideways and had to grip the broom with her elbows to keep herself from falling.

"Come on, Elizabeth!" called Jonas, swooping down to pick up a forgotten Quaffle that lay in the grass. "You Keep, I'll Chase!"

Unsteadily, Elizabeth flew over to the baskets they had set up as makeshift hoops and pretended she knew what she was doing. Jonas flew at her over and over, sometimes missing the hoops, sometimes scoring, but never did Elizabeth block him. He had been practicing, but against a skilled Keeper he might not have as much luck.

It was late afternoon when they landed again. Elizabeth's knuckles were sore from gripping the broomstick so tightly, but Jonas was grinning from ear to ear.

"Maybe I have got a chance," he said brightly. Elizabeth massaged her sore forearms and tried to smile.

"I'm glad you think so," she said. He threw the broom and Quaffle back in the broom shed and nearly skipped inside. Elizabeth smiled a little at him as she stowed away her own broom. She was always glad when she could help, but she just hoped whoever the new Quidditch Captain was would think he was wonderful.

She went inside to find the Magick School empty except for her sister, who was standing with her arms crossed and looking rather sour.

"We ought to have been home half an hour ago," she said. Elizabeth shrugged.

"You could have gone on," she answered, crossing to the fireplace and tossing a fistful of Floo powder into the flames.

"No I couldn't, you know that. Mum said to stay together."

"The Estate!" she cried, ignoring her sister completely. A few seconds later she tumbled through the fireplace in her family's kitchen, Carolyn just behind her. Her eyes fell on a pair of blue trainers, then followed the person up to see her mother standing there, an intent look on her face and pointing the handle of a scrub brush in Carolyn's direction. Elizabeth tried not to laugh until she'd reached the stairs as she heard Carolyn's words of protest that fell on her mother's deaf ears.

The upstairs was empty, and she vaguely wondered where Harry was before going into her room to take a nap. Waking up early in the summer was an awful concept.

---

Harry leaned against Ron's bed and sighed. Boredom ruled the day. Ron was reclined on his bed, flipping chocolate frog cards into the air, Hermione was leaning against the door, her knees tucked up to her chin, Neville was in the chair in front of Ron's desk, twirling a quill between his fingers, and Ginny was laying on her stomach at Harry's feet, playing with the loose toes of his socks.

"I'm _bored_," said Ginny, rolling over onto her back.

"Me, too," said Ron. "There's nothing to bloody do here."

No one spoke. The August heat was bearing down on them, even indoors, with a vengeance. The drought had dried up the pond behind the Burrow, so swimming was out of the question, and anything else they could do had long since been exhausted with what Harry could only describe as the laziest summer he had ever experienced.

"We could always go to my house," said Neville.

"With the Magick School? No thank you," said Ron.

"We could do our homework," suggested Hermione pointedly at the boys.

"Hermione, we have two weeks, it'll get done," said Harry, flipping Ginny's hair with his toe.

"I wish we were back in France," said Neville. "Now that we're home, I have time to worry about school again. At least I can look forward to not taking Potions. I'm certainly not in Slughorn's class anymore."

"But Neville, you're good at other things. You should be happy with your own abilities."

"I wish I was as good at Potions as my dad wants me to be. He gave me a whole new kit for my birthday this year, and he offered to help me practice this summer."

"You can't blame him for wanting you to do well. Besides, Potions is probably the most useful of all the subjects we've taken . . ."

"Ugh, can we _please_ stop talking about school?" groaned Ron and Ginny. Harry laughed.

They were quiet again for a few moments, during which time Neville reached out a hand to Hermione and traced the creases in it like a palm reader. Harry stared at the top of Ginny's head and felt strange shivers run through him like they always did when he gazed at her for a length of time. She was lazily picking at her fingernails that bore the remnants of pale pink polish, and as he examined her thin fingers (the third on her left hand interested him the most), he watched her stomach rise and fall with every breath. He was content in the moment.

"When should we call the next meeting of the D.A.?" Neville asked, breaking the silence. Harry had nearly forgotten about it, although he shouldn't have. Dumbledore's Army, an allegiance of students from Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff, and Gryffindor, was the students' answer to the Order of the Phoenix, and had been in existence since their third year. He didn't want to have to think about it, but since Neville had brought it up, he knew as the leader he would have to make some decisions.

"Well, do we have any news?" asked Hermione, always practical. "It doesn't make sense to call a meeting if nothing's happened."

"I haven't heard anything," said Harry. "But maybe someone else has. It can't hurt to regroup at the beginning of the year."

"Yes, but why risk it if we have nothing to talk about?"

"I have something to talk about."

Everyone turned to look at Ginny, who pushed herself into a sitting position on the floor. She looked a little pale, and seemed to hold a great secret. She looked at each of their surprised faces for a moment before speaking.

"I can't believe I'd forgotten about this. A few nights ago, I went downstairs to get a glass of water, and I noticed a light on in the front room. I went over to see what it was, and I heard Mum and Dad talking."

"What were they saying?" asked Harry unnecessarily.

"I dunno," said Ginny, looking at the ground, "I only heard a little . . . but there was something about a prophecy, and a weapon, and . . ." She looked up at them. "A rumor. A whisper. No one knows for sure, but . . ." She lowered her voice until she was barely audible. "Dumbledore is coming back."

No one said anything. If they were surprised before, it was nothing to how they felt now. Neville had gripped Hermione's hand tightly, Ron was sitting up straight on his bed, and Harry could hardly believe it. The legend of Albus Dumbledore, the greatest wizard that had ever lived, was the foundation of their secret organization. None of them had ever met Dumbledore, who had disappeared shortly after the Great Defeat of 1980, but all of them knew of him. Their parents spoke of him as a great wizard, the best Headmaster ever to govern Hogwarts, and a kind, courageous man. His name was always spoken as a whisper, as if saying it out loud would make him vanish forever. Everyone always said he would return when the hour was near, when the end of the long war was near. Now, if Ginny was right, if her parents were right . . . Harry could barely begin to imagine what it might mean.

"What do you reckon?" asked Ron, looking from one to the others. "What do you make of it?" Harry's dream-like state of hope melted, bringing him back to reality.

"We don't know what it means yet," said Harry.

"Right, it's only a rumor," added Hermione matter-of-factly. "Until we get some real evidence, I don't think we should say anything."

"But . . . if he's really coming back . . ." Neville said tremulously.

"Then he's coming back," said Ginny simply.

"And we'll have to be ready when he does," said Harry.

The five friends fell quiet again, smothered by the heat, each lost in their own thoughts. Dumbledore back . . . the end of the war . . . It was far too good to be true.

Suddenly Harry found Ginny's hand in his. She didn't say anything, but she looked at him so that he knew she wanted to leave. He laced their fingers together and followed her out into the hall and down the stairs. The Burrow never changed. Always the same dusty walls, the same worn floorboards, the same ruckus echoing throughout. Ginny led him by the hand out into the garden, then through the gate and out on the lawn. They wandered for a while in the garden, not saying anything, simply lost in their own worlds beside each other. They stopped at a bench under a great beech tree and sat beside each other.

Harry breathed in deeply, taking in the Burrow and its simple beauty. He would always love his home, but it was so big that most of it remained empty with his small family. For some reason he wondered what would happen if his family and the Weasleys' switched houses. He could imagine Ron and Ginny growing up in spacious rooms beside each other, eating supper in the formal dining hall and playing Quidditch above the acres of gardens around the house. He turned to look at Ginny, seeing her in his family's home, and she fit. But he preferred her here. He would always remember her here.

"It's so quiet," whispered Ginny after a moment. "Strange how the world seems so far away."

Harry didn't say anything. He simply watched Ginny's eyes roam across the sky and over her house and the flowers nearby. He regretted very much that school would be starting in just a few weeks and they wouldn't be able to enjoy many more moments like this, what with Ginny's O.W.L.s and his N.E.W.T. classes. If he had his way he would spend every day like this: relaxed and open in her company.

"I've been thinking about . . . about the rumor," continued Ginny. "And . . . if it really happens, if it really means the end of the war . . . I don't know what's going to happen. I mean, how would it happen? I've always been told there would be a big battle, like the Great Defeat. And . . . I mean, you hear stories of what it was like, and we all know what it's been like since, but . . ." She turned herself to face him. "Harry, how do we know we're all going to make it through this?"

Harry hadn't expected her to say anything like that, and didn't know what to say. To his surprise, he realized he'd never really thought about it. They were young, untouchable, and the war was a million miles away. He couldn't comfort her; there was nothing he could say that would tell her yes, and they would all see the other side. Because, he suddenly realized, they wouldn't.

A sudden rush of caring taking over him, Harry gently rested the back of his knuckles against her cheek, meeting her gaze levelly. Her soft brown eyes were earnest, searching for an answer and yet not really expecting one. The fire that fueled her was evident behind them, but he could also see the fear. She was so strong, but this new, overwhelming urge to keep her safe coursed through him.

"I promise I'll protect you," he said in a voice that didn't really sound like his. Ginny laughed.

"Who said I need protecting?" she said defiantly. She gently reached her hand up to his, taking it away from her face and holding it in her lap. "For some reason, I think you might be the one we need to protect."

"Oh really?" countered Harry awkwardly, the serious tone of her voice unnerving him. "Well, I'm not the one who's in detention every other Saturday."

"At least mine is by choice. I'm living life to the fullest, Potter, you should join me."

"I'm miles ahead of you, Weasley."

They laughed together, and Ginny looked away from him almost demurely. They'd only been together for a little more than a month now, but this was the most he had ever cared about anyone he'd dated. He wanted to be close to her all the time, and the closer he was to her, the better. Moving just a little nearer to her on the bench, he lightly ran his fingertips up and down her bare arm. She shivered under his touch, but it wasn't the weather. He felt his own veins fill with that strange sensation. Not wanting to rush anything, he reached from her arm to push her hair back out of her face. Gently, he rested his fingers under her chin and guided her lips to his. This happened so rarely that he had to savor every moment, and as she slid her hands behind his neck to tangle her fingers in his hair he wished this would never end.

Ginny pulled away, her face breaking into a grin. "I didn't think nice boys kissed like that," she said. Harry gave her a light peck on the lips and grinned back.

"Whoever said I was a nice boy?" he teased. They leaned back together, but just as they were about to make contact the storm door bashed open.

"Oi, lovebirds!" came Ron's voice. "Come out of the bushes, Mum says it's time for supper."

Harry tried not to look disappointed, but Ginny growled loudly. "Sod off, Ron, and tell Mum we'll be there in a minute!"

The door bashed again and Ron's voice disappeared. Ginny gave Harry a look of apology. "He's such a prat," she said.

"Don't excuse him, he's my best friend."

"Still, he didn't have to come storming out the way he did."

Harry gave her a last kiss before they had to go inside, reluctantly separating quickly so they wouldn't be missed. "We just need to find someplace more private next time," he said, only half joking.

Hand in hand, they stood and walked inside, only ceasing contact when they entered the kitchen to whistles from Ron and Neville and looks of high disapproval from Hermione and Mrs. Weasley. They took seats across from each other, and with a slight wink Harry scrawled a quick note on the table with his finger.

_I've heard the Astronomy Tower is good for snogging, haven't you?_

Ginny looked down at the table in front of her and snorted. As discreetly as she could manage she touched each of the letters in order and a message appeared back to Harry.

_in your dreams_

He smiled as the letters disappeared. He loved that he and Neville had come up with such an ingenious way of communicating. Only those with hand magic could actually write freehand messages, but even those without the gift, like Ginny, could pick out the letters they needed for return messages. For a moment, he thought he'd seen Neville recognize their method of personal correspondence sitting on his left, but he didn't seem to notice.

Supper went by quietly. Mrs. Weasley wasn't always as talkative when Mr. Weasley was late at work. The Muggle contraband that he was confiscating nowadays was much more sinister than it once ways, the adults said. Harry watched her eyes flicker to her family clock often, and she would seem to want to jump when she heard any noise remotely like someone Apparating. Harry loved Mrs. Weasley and he loved eating meals at the Burrow, but it was always strange when it was only Ron, Ginny, and their mother at home.

After the meal, they trekked back up to Ron's room, where they played alternating games of Exploding Snap and gobstones. Before he knew it, Harry had lost all track of time, and darkness had fallen. He and Neville realized how late it was (Hermione was staying with Ginny), said their goodbyes, and each took their turn through the grate.

Once back at home, Harry tiptoed through the kitchen and past the study, trying not to disturb anyone, for he learned that you could often hear useful bits of information if adults didn't know you were there. Uncommonly that night, he found the study door actually shut, a light shining out from underneath it. And through the closed door his parents' voices drifted, speaking in hushed, worried tones.

"James, I don't like this. Something is not right."

"It's not like he'll just be here overnight! He's got to plan, to make certain everything is ready. Then there's _that_ to consider . . ."

"Don't even mention it. As if things aren't bad enough already, we have to worry about whether or not it has anything to do with our children!"

Harry didn't have a clue what his parents were arguing about, but obviously it might have something to do with him. He wondered just what "it" was.

"It's incredibly vague, Lily. For all we know it could mean nothing—"

"It speaks of an Heir, James!"

His parents grew quiet. He thought he heard movement and maybe the creaking of springs. His mother spoke again.

"I just can't willingly put them in danger," said his mother.

"We don't have to decide anything now," said James. "We still don't know exactly what it means. And until he returns . . ."

"We might never know."

Harry tried to get closer to the door so he could hear more properly. They must be talking about Dumbledore! That was the only person who could be returning, at least with that much influence. He took a step toward the study, but he'd laid his foot on the squeaky board.

"Who's there?" called James. Harry knew he was caught, so he raised his hand to knock on the door.

His father answered it. "Harry," he said, surprised. Harry tried to make it appear as though he hadn't heard anything.

"Sorry I'm late," he said. "Mrs. Weasley asked me to stay for supper."

"It's all right," said his father. Harry wasn't entirely certain he'd convinced his father of his ignorance. James looked very nervous and after an awkward pause he said abruptly, "Well, good night, Harry."

"Good night, Dad."

With that he left the strange air behind him and climbed the stairs to his room, though a part of him longed to stay on the other side of that door. He had a million questions he wanted to ask, but he knew no one would answer any of them. Resigned to simply wonder, Harry changed into his pajamas and climbed into bed, hoping that at some point all of his doubts would be laid to rest.

Harry woke up late the next morning. He stretched lazily and yawned. Another incredibly lethargic day.

He chucked his covers off the bed and shook himself awake. If today was going to be lazy, he might as well start it as such.

His shower was quick, and he ran a hand through his hair after dressing and before going to the kitchen to grab a quick bite to eat. Perhaps he would take his broom out again today.

The house was deserted, which was strange. He supposed Carolyn and Elizabeth were at the Longbottoms', but where were his parents? Dad was probably back on the job, since being an Auror meant he was always on call, but he remembered his mother saying she had a few extra days off. Maybe he was wrong.

Since no one was there to tell him otherwise, Harry poured himself a large bowl of a very sugary cereal and drowned it in milk. He settled down at the beat-up old wooden table they typically took their breakfast off of and dug into his unhealthy meal.

"I always knew you wanted an early grave, I just thought you'd find a more dignified way of getting yourself there."

Harry nearly spilled all of his cereal into his lap at the loud voice right beside him. He whipped his head sideways and found himself looking straight at the laughing face of his godfather.

"If you keep sneaking up on me, I think _you_ might just be the cause of my death," he replied, shoving a spoonful of his breakfast in his mouth.

"What, stop doing it and miss those precious looks on you face? Never."

Sirius was insufferable. His father told him he always had been. In school when he'd been the ladies' favorite, then Auror training when he had gloated over every little victory, and finally now that he was the good-looking, swinging bachelor of the bunch, he'd taken pride in his small accomplishments. And sometimes a little bit too much pride.

"Where are Mum and Dad?"

"Out," replied Sirius. The vague answer usually meant something for the Order of the Phoenix, which the adults liked to pretend the children knew nothing about, which consequently suited the purposes of the children quite well. "I'm here to babysit."

Harry rolled his eyes. "Oh, please. You're here to spy, make sure I'm keeping my _nose clean_. For your information, I haven't been in contact with anyone . . ."

Sirius looked interested as Harry trailed off. "Go on," he said, leaning against a counter top and folding his arms. "Uncle Siri is always here to listen."

"Bugger off, I know you know about the D.A."

Sirius pretended to be surprised. "Come now, come now. What's this _D.A._?"

"Our Order," said Harry. "And you can't tell me that with all of the Order members' children that are in the D.A. none of them know about it. I thought it was your _job_ to know."

Sirius gave him a very stern look and when he spoke again it was very gravely. "Harry, I'm only going to tell you this once. Be extremely cautious with what you are doing. You're lucky that you've been able to lay low for as long as you have. Times are changing, Harry . . ."

Harry jumped up from the table. "Is it Dumbledore?" he asked quickly. "Is he really coming back?"

Sirius exhaled deeply and shook his head. "I can't tell you that, Harry."

"But you've heard it. The rumor, I mean."

"Harry, rumors happen all the time. Whenever things . . . get bad, people start believing Dumbledore is coming again. It's something that gives them hope. People have always said things like this, you're just old enough now to hear it and know what it means."

Harry was crestfallen. "Do you think he's ever coming back?" he asked, dreading the answer. Sirius didn't look at him.

"I believe . . . that whatever we need will come. If Dumbledore is indeed what we need to bring down Voldemort, he will return. He has more wisdom than anyone could ever imagine. He's out there somewhere, and he knows what's best for us. He's had plenty of time to pick his reappearance date."

"Yeah, but do you think he's coming back?"

Sirius rubbed his face with his hands, then ran his fingers through his hair. "I hope he does, yeah."

That wasn't quite the same thing, but Harry let it go. This disillusioned man before him was a side of Sirius that he had never seen. Harry wanted to change the subject, but didn't know what to say.

"So tell me about your D.A." said Sirius finally. "What does it stand for?"

"Dumbledore's Army," said Harry sheepishly. Sirius laughed. "I know, it's rather lame, but we were third years when we thought of it. It was only supposed to be temporary, but it kind of stuck. We couldn't think of anything else."

"I wish your father and I possessed the presence of mind to come up with something like that," he said. "We didn't really see the world for what it was. The price for being content teenagers."

"You had the Marauders, though."

"That's not the same. The Marauders were simply four friends who happened to make mischief. Which we still do today, I might add. Quite successfully." Harry smiled. Sirius settled himself on top of the counter. "Your dad hasn't told you much about us, has he?"

Harry shook his head. "I think he thinks it would be a bad influence."

"Of course it would. And a fifteen-year-old James would have been quite proud if his past had a bad influence on his only son. But your father . . ."

"Has changed, I know. Sometimes it's hard to believe he did some of the things I know back at school. Sometimes it's easy, though."

Sirius laughed again. "Fatherhood certainly sobered James a bit. The only one of the four of us to ever have kids. I mean, it was obvious he would be. What with Remus' lycanthropy, my impossible fear of commitment, and Peter's death before the age of twenty-five, who would expect anything else? I guess I'm boring you."

Harry shrugged. "A little. I want to know about you in school. What were you all like? Did my mum and dad always date? Did you know each other when you were little? What was your favorite prank? Who was your favorite professor?"

"Whoa, slow down," said Sirius. "Why aren't you asking your father about this?"

"He doesn't really want to share it. Like I said, he thinks it would be a bad influence on me. Besides, I know what my dad's like. I want to hear it from someone else's point of view."

"Actually, your friends remind me of us some. Like Neville. He's classic James at the height of his maturity. And you, of course, take after me, with a little of your father thrown in for good measure. And little Jonas is a bit like Remus. Not quite a prefect, but he has his heart in the right place. Then Ron. He's a good kid, very gentlemanly, very much like _his_ father, really, but he also reminds me of all the best parts of Peter."

"What was Peter like?"

"Short. Pudgy. A bit slow. But he was loyal. And he proved that in the end."

"How?"

Sirius sighed. "The Great Defeat. Poor Peter had gotten mixed up with the Death Eaters out of fear. But we managed to convince him to come back to our side, that we'd protect him. Before the fighting had even started, some lunatic on the other side saw Peter and recognized him as a traitor. So he threw the Killing Curse at him and started the battle. Peter was the first casualty of the bloodiest engagement we had ever seen."

"And Ron really reminds you of him?"

Sirius looked down at him. "Like I said, all the _best_ parts. You never heard that story before?" Harry shook his head. "I would have thought everyone knew it by now, the way they talk about Peter the hero. Your dad really never told you any of this?"

"None of it. He takes risks in his life, but he doesn't want me to take any in mine." There was a slightly bitter tone in what Harry said. Sirius smiled at him.

"James is quite the father. He got overprotective when . . . well, when you three were young. This war is scary for parents. But you've still got me." He winked. "And trust me when I say there are more people looking out for your safety than you know."

Harry pushed his cereal around with his spoon uncomfortably. The idea that anyone was watching him was unnerving, as was the fact that Sirius wasn't saying anything. Finally, he hopped off the counter and said, "Well, that's enough of my spying for today. Oh, also, your mum asked me to tell you that you have a visit with your aunt, uncle, and cousin this afternoon and that your dad is out buying you clothes."

"I thought you said you didn't know where he was," exclaimed Harry. Sirius shrugged.

"I lied." With that, he turned on the spot and disappeared with a small _crack!_

Harry finished his cereal with a little dread. He'd never met the Durski's . . . or was it Dursley? . . . before. Apparently they were wizard-hating Muggles that had refused to see his family for years. Why they wanted to see them now was beyond him.

He spent the rest of the morning lazing about the house, and it was earlier than usual that Carolyn and Elizabeth were heard downstairs. His father was not far behind with very uncomfortable Muggle clothes. He changed into them reluctantly, anxiously waiting for the time he could switch back into his jeans and trainers.

"Why do we have to dress up?" he asked. His father simply gave him a look.

"We need to look presentable. They've never met the three of you before. Oh, and also, while we're there, you shouldn't mention anything about magic. There isn't a wizard in the area for miles, so they're much undisturbed Muggles."

Lily arrived within the next quarter of an hour, and they all gathered around an old sardine can. Dad counted down, and they all reached for it at the same time. Harry felt the familiar pull behind his navel and resigned himself to the trip.

It was a warm, stuffy neighborhood. Very few children were outside, and every house had a very nice car in the driveway. Harry wondered how far they were from the house as they set off down the street.

Harry was used to Godric's Hollow, where the houses were older, not quite so identical, and not quite so close together. He found the whole thing rather bland and somewhat unsettling.

"Carrie, don't fidget with you collar."

"Oh, I hate these clothes. Why can't we just wear our regular wiz-"

James held a hand up to silence his youngest child. "Remember what I said about mentioning _you-know-what_ in this neighborhood? We're lucky your aunt even agreed to see us at all."

"Oh yeah, lucky," muttered Harry. He was in a suit. It was black wool, and his tie was nearly strangling him. The heat was bearing down with all its force and he thought he might cook to death inside his sheep's covering. He loved Dad, but sometimes he was guilty of trying just a little too hard.

His sisters weren't much more comfortable. Carolyn was wearing a knee-length plaid skirt and a white button-down with a high Peter Pan collar. Her feet must have been hot since they were tucked into polyester knee-highs and black patent leather mary-janes. Elizabeth hadn't fared much better. She was wearing a long-sleeved white dress shirt covered by a grey sweater vest. She, too, had on a knee-length skirt, but hers was the same grey as her vest and made of wool. Her own patent leather mary-janes must have been giving her blisters, because she wasn't wearing any socks at all.

"Okay, kids, just . . ." said James as he rang the doorbell, adjusting his blue gingham bow tie, "be normal."

The door opened and a blonde woman whose face resembled that of a horse stood behind it.

"Hello, Petunia!" said Lily.

"Hello, Lily," she replied. The woman surveyed the children with a slight look of disgust on her face. "Won't you all come in?"

His mother went first, followed by Elizabeth and a protesting Carolyn. Harry exchanged a look with his father, then followed the girls inside.

The house was awful. It was too clean, and smelled of lemon and pine. There were pictures of an appallingly fat boy on every available surface, and the whole thing had the feel of stagnancy and, well, discomfort. He thought about the bright colors and open spaces of his home and was certainly glad _he_ didn't live here.

"Dudley, Vernon, they're here."

Harry nearly started laughing as the two largest human beings he'd ever seen in his life came around the corner and into the sitting room. The largest one with a mustache extended his hand to his father.

"Vernon Dursley, drills."

"Erm, James Potter, law enforcement."

"A man with a badge, then?" Vernon chuckled a broad, phony laugh. "Of course, the pay can't be very good, can it? Being a public employee?"

"Er . . . it's good enough."

"Hi, Vernon, it's wonderful to see you again," said Lily. Harry was amazed at how much fake enthusiasm was being put forth in the room. All he wanted was to leave.

"Yes, hello." His mother had said before they arrived that Vernon was a very self-centered man who would only want to compare their car with his own and find every possible way to make his appear better. Of course, the Potters didn't own a car, which made this much more difficult. The other large one was silent and even looked a little afraid, which was, in fact, a relief. Harry had been under the impression that they would show up at the door with torches and pitchforks from what his parents had said.

"This is Dudley," said Petunia. "Say hello to your cousins, Dudley."

He waved a piggy hand once but didn't say anything. Harry again had to keep himself from laughing out loud.

"Well, these are our children," replied his mother. "This one is Elizabeth, our genius, the redhead is our little mischief-maker Carrie, and the tall, handsome one is our eldest, Harry."

Vernon seemed to be just as nervous as his son as he compulsively shook their hands. Petunia presented a tray of tea and they all sat down. Harry and his sisters were silent as the adults attempted to have a conversation.

"So, Lily, are you employed?" asked Vernon. Lily looked between her sister and her husband, then back at Vernon.

"Yes, actually, I'm a file clerk at the office where James works."

Vernon snorted. "I always said women's place was in the home. I suppose your children have grown up with strangers raising them."

"Actually, our best friends have looked after them since they were small," replied James defensively.

"And I suppose they're just like _you_."

Petunia put a hand on Vernon's knee. James had gone very white and Lily was looking more and more like an embarrassed Weasley.

Surprisingly, it was Petunia who broke the silence. "Dudley, why don't you go and show your cousins the house? Maybe give them a go on your Nintendo?"

Dudley looked like this was the very last thing he wanted to do, but at his mother's request he stood and awkwardly beckoned the Potter siblings up the stairs.

Harry all of a sudden wished he'd taken at least one year of Muggle Studies. Everything in Dudley's room was foreign to him, except for a few books sitting on a shelf that looked as though they hadn't been touched in years.

"So where's this Ninja-dough thingy and what does it do?" asked Harry, looking around the room.

"Don't you dare touch anything!" exclaimed Dudley. "My Nintendo was a Christmas present and I won't have weirdos like you lot messing it up."

"We're not _weirdos_," said Harry, irritated. "And didn't your mum just tell you to come up here and play nice?"

"Look, shrimp, I don't let kids push me around . . ."

"You want to make a fight out of it?" Harry flexed his fingers and balled them into a fist, ready to punch. But Dudley saw his fingers move and suddenly went crazy.

"Don't you use _you-know-what_ on me!" he squeaked. "I . . . I'll call my mum and you'll be in trouble!"

Harry was confused. He hadn't intended to use magic whatsoever. He released his fist and tried to calm Dudley down. It wouldn't be a pleasant thing for his mother to hear his squeaking and punish them all. Elizabeth and Carolyn looked as though they were trying to melt into the wall.

"DON'T YOU COME NEAR ME!" yelled Dudley again. "DON'T YOU DARE!"

"Dudley, I'm not going to use magic, it's—"

"MUUUUUM!"

A few seconds later the door burst open and Harry wished with every fiber of his being that he knew how to Apparate. In the doorway, somehow, all four parents had managed to wedge their head and shoulders. Petunia looked like a ghost, while Vernon was slowly becoming the choice purple of a beet. His own parents looked both concerned and admonishing. If this had been a normal situation, Harry would have launched into an explanation right then and there, but the Dursleys didn't give him a chance.

"What did you do to my son?" demanded Vernon. Harry shook his head.

"Nothing! I didn't do anything! I was only trying to calm him down, and he thought I was attacking him!"

"He told me he was going to use _you-know-what_ on me!"

"I didn't, I said I _wasn't_ going to use magic—"

Petunia let out a high-pitched squeal. Vernon's purple darkened until he resembled a large, round grape.

"Get out of my house," he demanded. "All of you get OUT OF MY HOUSE!"

Carolyn and Elizabeth looked scared. His parents looked shocked. Harry couldn't have asked for a better invitation.

The Dursleys had all backed away from the Potters, looking at them like escaped circus freaks who had invaded their house in the middle of the night. Lily looked at her sister and her sister's husband, her mouth open, and looked crushed. James gently took hold of Carolyn and Elizabeth.

"All right, Harry, let's go," he said, leading the kids down the stairs.

"I'm so sorry," he heard his mother say as he followed his father out of the door.

They waited outside for what seemed like half an hour until Lily left the house. She was in tears.

"Let's go home," she said. The family followed her at a brisk pace, James making his way to the front to walk with his wife.

"I'm sorry about your sister . . ." he said.

"She called us _freaks_, James!" she said. "She said we were unnatural, blasphemous . . . she called our _children_ freaks . . ."

"It's all right," he said. "We never have to go back there again . . ."

Harry could tell there was more his mother wanted to say, but she didn't. He hadn't ever really been introduced to a world outside of his own sheltered community. He'd heard about the cruelty against wizards hundreds of years ago, but he never would have thought a modern family would be so intolerant. With a glance back at the house, Harry closed his eyes for a moment and thanked whatever deity that would listen for giving him his family instead of one like the Dursleys'.


	3. Sticky Situations

**Chapter Two**

**Sticky Situations**

The month of August passed quickly. Before he knew it, Harry was pitching Floo powder into the fire and traveling the distance to the Leaky Cauldron to buy his school things. Harry dreaded these trips to Diagon Alley. Like most public places in the wizarding world, security measures that had become routine made for a slow and tedious day, although in Diagon Alley it was as though people expected the Great Defeat all over again. In order to do any shopping, or to even go to the Leaky Cauldron, you had to submit a request form with your reason for going and how urgent it is. Usually, the family would go earlier in the summer as soon as they had received Hogwarts letters, but since Harry had to wait for his O.W.L. results and Carolyn was just starting, the Ministry let them wait until the prime shopping season to go. When he stepped through the grate (able to stay on his feet this time), he was first pulled aside by a security wizard who had been forewarned that they were coming.

"Name?" he asked gruffly, poking Harry in odd places with a Secrecy Sensor.

"Harry James Potter," replied Harry dully, holding out his wand so it could be registered.

"Holly, phoenix feather," dictated the guard to a wispy-looking witch at a nearby table. The witch then scribbled twice on a card and tore it in half. One half she handed to the guard, who stuck it to Harry's wand with a bit of tape, while the other she dropped into a large file folder labeled "Po-Pr". The guard handed Harry back his wand and Harry waited to the side for the rest of his family to go through.

His father was next, then Elizabeth, then Carolyn (who had to prove that she didn't have a wand), and finally his mother. The guard finished the process for her, then turned to the family.

"Do you or any of your children have any special abilities such as the Sight, hand magic, or—"

"Hand magic," his father answered. The guard took note. "All three."

At this the guard's eyebrow shot up, but he said nothing, simply scribbling on his parchment.

"Are you here on Ministry business, bank business, school business, or—"

"School," said James. "And yes, I am a Ministry employee, so is my wife, our children are all underage, and no, we do not have any illegal substances nor do we plan to buy any while we are here."

Harry smiled at his dad. The guard must have been new, because he had to scribble furiously to keep up with his father's answers. Finally, he blinked, looked at his list, then up at the family.

"You are now allowed to enter Diagon Alley," he said as if reciting from a card. "Please note that minimal magic is allowed, and that Aurors are allowed to search you at any time for any reason without warning. Have a nice day."

Harry followed his parents through the pub and out to the back. James tapped the bricks and the archway opened up.

Harry had been told that once, before the Great Defeat, Diagon Alley had been a bright, bustling hub of wizard civilization. He had a hard time believing it. For years it had been a Death Eater stronghold, left in their possession after the Great Defeat. Then, suddenly, they had abandoned it. No one knew why, and it was several years after that when the Ministry had declared it open to the public. The security measures had kept out any dark activity since then, and most of the wizarding community felt safe to do their shopping there again.

The main street, he'd been told, once was bright and cheerful, with well-decorated shop signs creaking in the breeze and brightly lit shop windows showing wares. Now, the long, curved avenue seemed hung with a dark grey fog. The pavement below Harry's feet was slate grey, and the buildings looked faded and beaten. Most of the old shopkeepers had moved back in, but some were still as empty as they had been the day the Death Eaters left, memories of their dark history leering out at passerby through windows black as night. Few people were on the street, which Harry was used to. It was hard to even begin to imagine a place like this crowded or bustling. Personally, Harry liked to spend as little time as possible here.

"James, you take Harry to Flourish and Blotts, I'll take Carolyn and Elizabeth to Ollivander's and stop by Madam Malkin's on the way back," said his mother. Harry and his father parted from the group and stepped inside the large, book-crowded store.

Harry found his books in silence, and by the time he was dragging _An Advanced Guide to Potion-making_ off its shelf, he heard Carolyn's voice.

". . . And Mr. Ollivander said it was good for Transfiguration!"

"Great, all the more help for her to destroy my belongings," came Elizabeth's voice. Harry turned to smile at his sister.

"Remember what I said, about missing her if she was gone?" he asked. Elizabeth shook her head.

"I would not. Most people grow out of trying to sell their younger sibling to their neighbors. Me, I'd give her away if anyone would take her."

Harry laughed. If anything brought out vindictiveness in her, it was Carolyn. Usually Elizabeth was demure and polite and proper, but not many people got to see this side of her. He climbed down off the ladder with his large book and added it to his small but heavy pile. A few minutes later he was dumping them on the clerk's counter along with his sisters' when a shrill alarm rang out.

"Dark Detectors Drill!" called the clerk. Harry rolled his eyes but followed the clerk and the rest of his family down a narrow passageway and into an Unplottable room. When the Ministry had moved back in to Diagon Alley they had required all returning storeowners to build one into their shop big enough to hold their maximum occupancy. Once or twice a week there was a drill to test the dark detectors that had been set up, and the reaction time of patrons and businesses alike. Harry leaned against the back wall and stuck his hands in his pockets. Of course, everything would be futile in an actual attack, but still, the Ministry had to do something to bring people back. A sharp whistle echoed in from outside and the clerk slid the door open.

"Drill complete," came a recorded voice. Harry's family paid for their merchandise and left.

After stopping to buy a cauldron and potions supplies for Carolyn and Harry (since he would be doing advanced potions that year) they returned to the Leaky Cauldron, where the guard who had screened them in the first place swept his Secrecy Sensor across them and through their things, checked their wands, verified their identities, then sent them on their way.

Harry climbed the stairs to his room and dumped his books on the bed. A letter lay under his window, addressed to him in Hermione's handwriting. What on earth would Hermione write to him about? He slid his finger under the seal on the back and unfolded the letter.

_Dear Harry,  
I was thinking about the . . . rumors we've heard lately. I really think we should have a meeting. It's best if we keep the regularity. And perhaps someone does have something to share. We won't know until we hear, right?  
This is going to sound silly, I know, but . . . does Ron . . . I know you two never would have been friends with me if it hadn't been for Neville, but for some reason, Ron seems . . . Does Ron hate me? I mean, hate is a strong word, but for the past few weeks he's been acting very strangely. I suppose it could be just me, but . . . Well, I'm being silly. Never mind. I just wondered . . .  
Well, anyway. Don't get into too much trouble before I see you on the train!  
All of my love,  
Hermione_

It was a very strange letter. Why on earth would Hermione think that Ron hated her? Well, no one had ever successfully described the inner workings of girls' minds to him, and it certainly wasn't going to help speculating over Hermione's strange letter. He simply folded it and slid it into his trunk.

Suddenly there was a knock on his door.

"Come in," said Harry. The door opened and his father walked in.

"Hullo, Harry," he said. He was standing awkwardly near the door. Harry braced himself for some kind of lecture, and he wasn't disappointed.

"Er, Harry . . . your mother and I have been talking and . . . well . . . it seems you've become quite familiar with the Weasley girl this summer—"

"Yeah, well, that happens when you've got a girlfriend," said Harry. His dad wasn't acting at all like himself, and Harry didn't like it. James ran a hand through his hair and laughed a little.

"Yeah, yeah it does." He relaxed a little bit, venturing over to sit on Harry's bed. He adjusted his square-rimmed glasses on his nose and looked up at his son. "Harry, I know you're sixteen now, and you feel like you're an adult . . ."

Harry tried not to roll his eyes, but failed to resist tuning him out. He was going to get some variant of the "responsibilities talk" and wasn't really in the mood. Pretending he gave his father his full attention, he moved over to sit on his trunk under the window.

". . . and I, er, I just want you to think about things before you rush into them. She is a year younger than you, and—"

"Dad," said Harry, "Ginny and I are not going to _do_ anything. So stop worrying. And tell Mum to stop worrying, too."

James opened his mouth to say something, then closed it again. "All right," he said finally. "As long as you're careful, though, Harry. Sometimes things happen that you don't plan on . . ."

Harry didn't have any clue why his father was doing this now, with Ginny. If anything, he should have given him this talk with Cho last year, or Lavender, but certainly not Ginny. Of course, he wasn't going to let his dad know that.

"Thanks, Dad," he said compliantly. "I'll keep it in mind."

James gave him a look that said he knew Harry was going to do what he wished no matter what, but no longer pressed the subject. With a parting good-night, he left, and Harry closed the door behind him.

"Harry!"

Harry turned to face his fireplace where Ginny's smiling face was looking up at him. He grinned and knelt in front of her.

"I just wanted to say good night," she said. Harry planted a small kiss on her forehead, at which she raised an eyebrow. "What was that for?"

Harry sighed and sat back on his heels. "My dad. He . . . well, it doesn't matter. Good night," he said. A sudden thought struck him. "Where are you?" he asked. Ginny grinned.

"The shed. Mum doesn't know I've got a secret stash of Floo powder out here, and if she did she'd kill me. Floo powder is awfully expensive."

In that moment he realized just why he was with her. "You're wonderful," he said. Ginny gave him a small wink.

"Just you wait. You haven't seen anything yet."

She blew him a kiss, then the fire roared up green and disappeared. Harry smiled to himself. He suddenly was looking forward to returning to Hogwarts.

---

"Five minutes!"

Elizabeth handed her trunk to Jonas, who had saved her a seat, then turned to say good-bye to her parents.

"Come _on_, Liz!" said Jonas. "I can't keep this compartment for long!"

Elizabeth glanced back at her parents.

"Bye, Mum!" she called through the September 1st din of Platform 9 ¾. "Bye, Dad!"

They made no sign that they heard her. In fact, her father was nowhere in sight and her mother looked quite busy trying to get Harry and Carolyn onto the train before it pulled out without them. Undaunted, she just shrugged and climbed on board the Hogwarts Express. She would see them at Christmas.

The train seemed more crowded this year. The crop of first years was much larger than the years before, probably owing to the growing confidence in the Resistance. Elizabeth knew little about politics, but one couldn't easily ignore the war.

"Sickle for your thoughts," said Jonas, struggling with her trunk. Elizabeth relieved him of it as they entered an empty compartment.

"I'm not sure they're worth a Sickle," she said, shoving her trunk onto the shelf overhead. She collapsed back into the seat, leaning against the window. There was nothing to see but wall on that side of the train, so she laughed a little to herself and focused on her excitement at returning to Hogwarts. Fourth year promised to be entertaining, at the least. Gryffindor would be getting a fairly new Quidditch team, and Professor Levinsky had promised to show them his Russian military tattoo. That, and she had transferred out of Muggle Studies into the new Practical Defense course. Most of the D.A. had transferred there, though they tried not to look too suspicious. Professor Levinsky promised them it would be worth their while.

With a jolt the train began to move, and Elizabeth watched as King's Cross turned into landscape outside her window. She briefly thought of everything that had happened that summer. Like any holiday, it wasn't particularly eventful, but it still made her sad to be going back to school.

Jonas and Elizabeth were fairly into their game of Exploding Snap when Ginny Weasley collapsed into their compartment, gasping with laughter.

"Liz, _please_ tell me you know something about this," she wheezed.

"Something about what?" Elizabeth asked, reaching for a card just a second after Jonas grabbed it.

"Well, you know how Carrie tends to get into mischief? Apparently, just after you got on the train, your mum . . ." She broke out in peals of laughter again. "Your mum took Harry's hand, stuck their wrists together, and worked a binding charm faster than they knew what happened!" She giggled some more. "Now they're stuck like that for the rest of the trip. We've tried everything; jinxes, counter jinxes, we even shut the spell in the compartment door. Or tried to, anyway."

"What happened?"

"The door bounced right back open and Harry landed plop on the seat with Carolyn beside him. Hermione tried a Melt-Away Charm, but we think that made it worse. They're stuck up to the elbow, now."

Elizabeth laughed. It seemed an unfair punishment for Harry's part, but at least Carolyn would have to wait until they actually arrived to get into trouble.

A "bang!" emanated from a few compartments down, and a smattering of screams dissolved into giggles. Ginny stuck her head out of the door as a large orange cloud floated by. She snorted.

"I have to go. I think Harry might've just hurt himself."

She went back to her compartment, leaving Elizabeth, Jonas, and their cards alone again.

"Professor Levinsky's class should be good this year," said Elizabeth. "I can't believe you didn't sign up for Practical Defense."

"The less time I spend with that man, the better."

"He's fascinating."

"He's scary."

"Well, he at least knows what he's talking about, _and_ he's stuck around for another year. You know, we're his favorite class."

"Doesn't matter," said Jonas, dealing the cards again. "He's still scary."

They lapsed into silence, playing the game. After Jonas won, Elizabeth sat back and watched the countryside go by, wondering if he would speak again. He'd grown curiously quiet around her in the past few months. When he remained soundless, she reached up into her trunk and pulled out her novel (the newest_ Samantha Sonorus, Sorceress Sleuth_ paperback). Jonas made a funny noise, but she ignored it and settled in to read.

There were droves of people drifting by in the corridor, their voices rising and fading as they walked by. Elizabeth felt almost lazy in the warmth of the hot summer day, her eyes drifting closed.

"Hello, Elizabeth."

She hadn't even remembered falling asleep, but at the voice her head popped up off her chest. Hermione stood in the doorway, smiling at her. Neville fell into place behind her, his eyes laughing as he looked over Hermione's shoulder.

"Oh, hi, Hermione."

"Can we join you?"

Elizabeth nodded, and Hermione and Neville sat down nearest the door.

"How are the prefects this year?" asked Elizabeth. She couldn't help but notice Jonas move away from his brother as he sat.

"The fifth years seem fine," said Hermione. "Young, but fine. Most of the sixth years are the same. I don't think we should have a problem."

"Well, that's good."

"I just wish that McGonagall would replace Marius Lestrange! He's so awful, always picking on the younger students, making a mess of everything, and he's so horrible to Ron. And as if Slytherin House wasn't bad enough . . ." She trailed off, biting her lip, which usually meant she had a lot more to say, but being Hermione she would not say it if she had been told not to. Neville's eyes were still laughing, and Jonas seemed to be looking away from him pointedly.

"Well, there _have_ been some new developments," said Neville.

"Don't, Neville, we're not supposed to say anything!" hissed Hermione.

"Oh, come on," said Neville. He nudged Jonas with his elbow while Jonas bit his lower lip and tried to ignore him. "Jonas wants to know. Don't you Jonas?"

Jonas shrugged his arm away from Neville. Neville laughed.

"I'm just teasing," he said. "Although, a new student from Durmstrang—"

"_Neville_!"

"—might just help you with your weak Defense skills."

"Neville, you _know_ we weren't supposed to say anything!" Hermione was livid. "If you're going to abuse your privileges as a prefect—"

"All right, all right, Hermione," said Neville. "It's not going to hurt. Anyway, you know the Slytherins have been told everything by now."

"Yes, but that doesn't make it right!"

Elizabeth sighed loudly, hoping they would take the hint.

"Well, anyway," said Hermione, catching on, "don't say anything, Elizabeth, Jonas. We'll get in trouble, and you'll find out everything soon enough."

Another bang sprang from Harry's compartment and another loud chorus of laughter. Hermione sighed.

"I told them not to try anything else, it'll only get worse . . ."  
"See you later, Elizabeth," said Neville, following Hermione out of the door. "Stay out of trouble, little brother."

Jonas gave him a dark look as the compartment door closed. The two never really saw eye to eye, but this had gotten ridiculous. The situation seemed to be even worse than it had been on holiday. Usually Jonas just ignored what Neville said, and Neville's insults weren't typically as harsh. This time, for some reason, Jonas looked seriously hurt.

"You don't have to let him talk to you like that," Elizabeth said quietly.

"No, he's right," said Jonas quickly. "I'm lousy at Defense."

"Jonas, you—"

"Don't."

Then he fell silent. He crossed his arms over his chest and closed himself off from her.

She tried to read again, but she was too distracted. A student from Durmstrang . . . She had been under the impression that Europe's schools didn't have exchange programs. Maybe there were special circumstances. But Durmstrang . . .

She fell asleep again. By the time she opened her eyes darkness had descended, the landscape had turned rocky, and rain poured outside the windows. Jonas wasn't there. She wondered where he was, but only briefly. They had to be close, and she needed to pack her things back into her trunk. She reached up and put her novel away, and stretched to pull her uniform out when footsteps entered her compartment.

"Oh, Jonas, there you are, I—" she turned to face him and stopped when she saw the person she was talking to wasn't Jonas. Instead, the boy there was taller, with a very tidy mop of wavy honey-brown hair just long enough to curl up at the ends, a handsome face with high cheekbones and a very slender nose, and his mouth spread in a wide, slightly impish grin. Elizabeth lit up when she saw him.

"Nate?" she asked breathlessly. He nodded. "How are you?" Nate Dashwood, a fellow fourth year, also belonged to the D.A., and his father, was a member of the Order of the Phoenix.

"I'm all right. How was your summer?"

"Good. It was good. We went to France again, the whole family. Which includes the Longbottoms and the Weasleys this time."

"Quite a group!"

"Yes, indeed. We had enough to form two Quidditch teams and play each other. The Potter/Longbottoms won, of course."

Nate laughed. Elizabeth swooned a little bit despite herself. His smile was so infectious, and his laugh . . . Perhaps absence did make the heart grow fonder.

"Well, what did you do this summer?" she asked. Nate shrugged.

"Not much. Having one married older sister isn't nearly as interesting as having all those siblings and honorary siblings to idle away hours with. I did a lot of reading, and I helped Dad around the house. It's not easy for him since Mum died, and I'm away at school all the time." A look of sadness passed behind his eyes for a moment. Elizabeth had forgotten. Nate's mother, a Muggle, had been killed the summer before his first year in a traffic accident while on a business trip in Spain. He had wanted to stay at home with his father, to help him, but his father had insisted he go to the school. Nate was actually remarkably mature about it. Elizabeth opened her mouth to say something, but at that moment another figure appeared behind Nate.

"Excuse me, I'd like to get into my compartment."

Nate moved aside and let Jonas through. For a second Elizabeth thought she saw a very nasty look come over Jonas' face, but as soon as it appeared, it vanished, and she assumed she'd imagined it. She turned back to Nate.

"Well, see you there, then?" she asked. He smiled again.

"Yeah, see you there. It's good seeing you again, Elizabeth."

Elizabeth smiled, and Nate left. Whatever queer humor had come over Jonas, it had disappeared. He gave her a slight smile and before she could ask where he'd been, he spoke.

"We'd better change, we're almost there," he said, reaching up into his trunk. Elizabeth resigned herself to silence and reached into her own trunk and pulled out her uniform. She then waved her hand and a curtain of opaque fog obscured their vision of each other. Elizabeth changed quickly, knowing that the spell wouldn't last long. She pulled her hair out of its long ponytail and ran her fingers through it, shaking out the knots. Just as she'd managed to put the last button through its hole in her shirt, the fog faded and she and Jonas were face to face again.

"Just one more year until you get that prefect badge," said Jonas.

"There are a lot more qualified people than me," said Elizabeth. "Besides, the only Potter who ever got a badge was my father. The odds are not in my favor."

"You don't think Harry will get it?"

"Next year it'll be Head Boy and Girl, and that should be Hermione and your brother."

Jonas shrugged. He looked so much older than he had the year before. His dark brown hair grew long, and curled up haphazardly at the ends. He had more of a bookish, slightly nerdy look, too, but it became him. He also seemed to have grown into his nose. He looked so much more like his father than Neville, and really was better looking. She found it amazing how much someone could change in just a few months.

The train came to a halt and Elizabeth realized she had been staring. She quickly looked away, but didn't notice Jonas' eyes look away just a moment after.

They braced themselves for the weather and trudged out into the corridor. They stepped onto the platform to Hagrid's familiar cries of "Firs' years, this way!" They saw Neville and Hermione, still arguing, guiding first years toward Hagrid. Carolyn's bright red head bobbed somewhere among the crowd of tiny first years, unseen for the moment.

"The situation could be worse," said Elizabeth, huddling in her robes. She and Jonas, and everyone else on the platform, for that matter, were soaked through with the chilled rain. "We could have to cross the lake."

Elizabeth looked to find Carolyn to see if she was all right. Her soaked red hair stood out like a sore thumb, but so did something else. Right next to her, nearly twice the height of many of the first years, stood her brother. She laughed. "Oh, _no_!"

---

Harry planted his feet firmly on the platform in front of Hagrid. If he had to do this, he wasn't going to run around like an idiot with the other first years.

"All righ' there, Harry?" asked the half-giant, an amused twinkle in his eye. Harry hoped it was just the reflection of the lamp in his hand; otherwise Hagrid would have the pointy end of Harry's wand to deal with.

A mighty tug nearly pulled him to the ground. He jerked hard on his right hand and pulled his sister back to his side.

"You're staying right here," he said.

"No, I'm not. Lara's over there, we want to get a boat together."

"That's too bad, because as long as I'm here, you're staying with me, and I refuse to run around with the rest of you in this downpour."

"You just want to stop me having fun."

Harry scoffed. "Yeah, Carrie, that's exactly what I want to do. So I cleverly stuck myself to your arm so I could stand out here in the rain instead of ride up to the castle nice and dry with _my_ friends. Oh, no, wait, I forgot. _Mum_ stuck us together like this."

"All righ', firs' years, follow me!" Hagrid's call rang out through the commotion, and Harry and Carolyn's argument dissolved for the moment. Harry marched right in Hagrid's footsteps, trying to stay in the lee and perhaps stop the rain from penetrating him any more. Carolyn let herself stumble reluctantly along behind him. By the time they rounded the last bend in the muddy path, however, all signs of resistance in Carolyn were lost.

Harry still remembered his amazement at seeing the legendary castle for the first time. And still, six years later, the sight of its torch-lit windows and magnificent turrets took his breath away.

A light pull on his wrist called his attention back to his sister. He looked down to snap at her again, but she looked up at him from inside a boat. He climbed in and watched as Hogwarts loomed ever closer.

"I'm sorry I shouted at you earlier," said Harry. Carolyn shrugged.

"I'm sorry you're trapped with me," she said. "I know you'd rather be with your friends."

Harry looked away from the castle to his little sister. Suddenly he fully appreciated just how little and vulnerable she was. Her eyes were trained on the school, wide with wonder, and she looked genuinely docile. That would all change once she'd gone inside, of course, but for the moment she was just another eleven-year-old coming in to Hogwarts for the first time. It made him smile that he could be part of it.

"Actually, Carrie, there's no one I'd rather be with right now than you."

She gave him a look of appreciation for an instant, and then turned back to watching the school.

"You know, Harry, I think it would be nice if people didn't know we were related, just until I've built up my own reputation."

Yep, same old Carrie.

They pulled into the dock under the school where Professor Slughorn stood to greet them. Harry always thought it a gross misrepresentation of Hogwarts to have the eccentric old Potions Master as their first introduction.

"Welcome to Hogwarts," he declared happily. The pudgy old man was clad in robes of a brilliant aquamarine and held his hands on his round belly, smiling at all of them appraisingly. Harry knew from his own first year that he actually was appraising them. His sharp eyes alighted on Harry and immediately went to the redhead attached to his arm.

"My goodness, Mr. Potter, you seem to have acquired a very attractive growth on your arm," he said bemusedly. "No need to ask who she is. The very image of your mother! Welcome to Hogwarts, Miss Carolyn. You'll join us at Slug Club meetings, of course. I'm certain your brother and sister have already told you all about them. You'll make such a wonderful addition!"

Carolyn looked at the floor and shifted her weight, not used to such strange attentions. After a few awkward seconds of silence, Hagrid cleared his throat.

"You'll be wantin' to get these firs' years to their sortin', Professor," said Hagrid, ushering the other students toward Professor Slughorn. Slughorn gave the Potters one last grin then turned to the others.

"If you'll all follow me. And don't be frightened, this whole sorting business will soon be over with." Harry, Carolyn, and the other trembling first years began their trudge up the stairs.

"What's the Slug Club?" said Carolyn quietly. Harry suppressed a laugh.

"It's horrid. You'll hate it. It's all this fuss over blood ties and who your parents are. He thinks we're rather special because we can 'do odd things with our hands' as well as come from a powerful family."

Slughorn led the way straight into the Great Hall. Suddenly Harry felt very aware of just how tall he was. It seemed as though every person in the school had their eyes on him and laughed. He smiled sheepishly at his friends as he passed them, finally arriving before the stool and the Sorting Hat.

According to some of the older students, and everything else he'd been told about Hogwarts, the Sorting Hat used to have a song for each new year, explaining the houses and, at times, giving warnings. But the Hat had long since grown silent, as though it knew its words were unheeded. Harry wondered what it would have had to say if it spoke to them now. But the Sorting began without any kind of words from the Hat, either in song or no.

"Each of you will place the Sorting Hat on your head and it will call out the name of the House into which you will belong," said Slughorn cheerfully, taking a scroll from the High Table. He unrolled it with a flourish and read out the first name.

"Abell, Lara."

Carolyn's blonde friend stepped out of the crowd and went to sit on the stool. The hat sat on her head for a few moments, then called out "RAVENCLAW!" Carolyn was crestfallen.

"I wanted her to be in Gryffindor," she said. Harry remembered his own Sorting. He had felt so much pressure to be put in Gryffindor, even though Dad had told him it didn't really matter, so long as it wasn't Slytherin, that he'd gone up to the stool and simply told the Hat that he needed to be in Gryffindor. He'd explained about his father, and about how Neville, his best friend, was already in it. He thought he'd put forth a rather excellent case, really. But surprisingly, the Hat didn't put up an argument or propose another House, so barely ten seconds later it had called out "GRYFFINDOR!" Harry never wondered if he belonged in Gryffindor. He could simply look at the great friends he had there and know.

Carolyn must have felt some kind of pressure. First Harry, then Elizabeth, and now it was her turn to satisfy the family tradition. Slowly the crowd around them thinned, and Carolyn's turn arrived.

"Potter, Carolyn."

Harry let his sister lead the way as she stepped hesitantly toward Professor Slughorn and the Sorting Hat, accompanied by a shower of giggles from the Hall. She settled onto the stool nervously, then closed her eyes tight as Slughorn lowered that Hat onto her head. Harry waited with bated breath for what seemed an eternity, wondering what the hat was saying to her. Finally the great tear near the brim opened wide and called:

"GRYFFINDOR!"

A great cheer rose from Harry's table as Carolyn nearly leapt off the stool and swiped the Hat from her head. It took everything Harry had in him to keep her from running over to the table.

"Come on, you're sitting with us tonight," he said, dragging her by the wrist to his group of friends. Carolyn made small protest, considering her best friend had just been Sorted into Ravenclaw. Harry swung one leg over the bench before several things happened in quick succession.

There was a loud _bang!_ and a lot of smoke from somewhere between Harry and Carolyn. Neville dumped his pumpkin juice all down his front, in the process jabbing an elbow into Hermione's rib, who then cried out and hit him hard across the shoulder. The poor little first year sitting under the Sorting Hat fell off the stool, and a large chorus of laughter rang in the Great Hall as Harry landed hard on his backside and Carolyn flew several feet backward.

"What happened?" he asked dazedly, rubbing his sore rump.

"The end of a spell is what happened," giggled Ginny. She was right. Carolyn and Harry were free of their magical manacles. Sheepishly, Harry stood and slid onto the bench. Carolyn disappeared somewhere down the table.

"All right, all right, settle down," said McGonagall. Snape read out the next name and the Sorting continued.

The Sorting concluded without further incident. Snape rolled up the parchment containing the first years' names and bent to carry the hat and stool back to its corner. McGonagall stood in front of her Headmistress chair at the High Table and called for quiet before the feast began. Harry and his friends fell silent and gave her (for the moment) their full attention.

"Well, I'd like to welcome back our returning students," she said. "And I would like to welcome for the first time our new ones. As you know, the Forbidden Forest is called so for a _reason_, and under no circumstances should any student enter it at any time unless accompanied by a staff member. This does mean staff member, not an older student or staff member, by the way." She gave Harry's group quite a look at this point, which they returned with smirks in each other's general direction. McGonagall gave a sigh and continued. "Anyone caught out of bounds, out of bed after lights out, or doing anything that violates quite a long list of behavior regulations that our dear Mr. Filch has laid out, had framed, and put on display outside his office door will be promptly given a detention. Detentions are not pleasant, and are not designed to be so. I strongly advise every one of you to avoid them. It's never too late to make a fresh start."

Harry's attention began to wander. He wondered if Dumbledore's speeches had ever been like this when his parents were at school. He wondered if he, Neville, and Ron really were like the Marauders. He wondered if Ron _really_ reminded Sirius of the hero, Peter Pettigrew. He wondered what things would have been like if the Great Defeat had never happened . . .

". . . another new student among us." McGonagall broke into his thoughts. "He will take his place in Slytherin as a sixth year, and I hope that each of you will make him feel welcome within our walls."

Harry waited for a student to stand and reveal his identity, but the Slytherin table remained seated. It seemed strange to him that a student would be allowed to enter as a sixth year, but it didn't seem very important at the moment. McGonagall paused, seemed to contemplate saying something more, but then simply raised her hand and said, "Let the feast begin."

Food appeared, and suddenly Harry realized he was starving. His friends resumed conversation again as Harry picked up bits of roast chicken and shoveled them into his mouth.

"So see, Hermione, McGonagall told everybody, anyway. You didn't have to shout at me on the train."

"Yes, but if you notice, _Neville_, she didn't say anything about Durmstrang!"

Harry's fork slipped from his fingers and landed with a clatter on his plate. "Durmstrang?" he asked. "The new student is from Durmstrang?"

Hermione looked utterly ashamed of herself as Neville laughed beside her. "Becoming a bit of a hypocrite, aren't we?" he asked.

"My slip was inadvertent, might I remind you," she said, "while yours was blatantly—"

"Wait, you _knew_ about this?" Harry demanded.

"Harry, as prefects we were bound to secrecy," said Hermione. "We couldn't say anything to anyone."

"Yeah, but obviously you have, otherwise you wouldn't have—"

"All right, Harry, all right," exclaimed Hermione, trying to keep him from shouting. "Neville told Jonas and Elizabeth because it slipped out. We weren't keeping secrets; we weren't supposed to tell _anyone_ . . ."

Harry pushed his food around with his fork. This made him highly suspicious. A new sixth year student, entering during a N.E.W.T. year, from Durmstrang when Europe's wizarding schools didn't have exchange programs, in the middle of a war. Harry found it amazing that anyone let him in at all.

"You aren't angry with us, are you?" Hermione looked between him and Ginny and Ron. Ginny shook her head.

"Just wish you would have shared with your best friend," Harry said pointedly at Neville. "But how much do you actually know?"

Hermione shook her head. "No more than that. They wouldn't tell us anything because they were afraid we'd share. Which, obviously, we did. But wouldn't have, if someone could have kept his mouth shut instead of tormenting his brother."

"I don't torment, I tease. It's good for him. Gives him thick skin."

Harry continued spearing his chicken with his fork. First the rumors of Dumbledore's return, then his parents' strange whispers behind closed doors, and now a suspicious student from a school renowned for its focus on the Dark Arts. All strange coincidence, as Sirius would have him believe, or was something else at work here . . . ?

Harry finished eating in silence, half-listening to the conversations springing up around him. Every once in a while his eyes would dart toward the Slytherin table, trying to pick out a student he hadn't seen before. For a moment he thought he saw someone, but then a gaggle of Ravenclaw girls obscured his view and by the time they had left, whoever it was had disappeared.

The main course vanished and they tore through the desert, and by the time they finished they were all utterly exhausted. The meal ended not a moment too soon when McGonagall stood again, raised a hand, and all the plates cleared.

"If the prefects would please lead the first years to their dormitories," she said. "Everyone get a good night's sleep and be prepared for your classes in the morning."

Hermione and Neville stood together and began directing the terrified little first years toward Gryffindor Tower. Carolyn walked by, flanked by two other girls and a boy followed not too far behind. She stole a glance and gave him a thumbs-up before moving into the throng and out of the Hall.

Harry, Ginny, and Ron made their way up to Gryffindor Tower well behind the first years. Harry was vaguely aware of Ginny's hand in his, and he hoped she wouldn't be angry at him for not reciprocating. They stumbled into the common room through the portrait hole to find it bustling with the normal activity. Hermione and Neville were sitting on a corner of the sofa talking intimately, and Ginny gave his hand a squeeze.

"Fancy a game of chess?" she asked. He shook his head.

"No, I think I'll just go to bed." He bent down and chastely kissed her good-night before letting go of her hand and climbing up the stairs.

Back in the dormitory, Harry found the curtains around Ron's bed were the only ones already closed. Harry kicked off his trainers, snuggled into his striped pajamas and slid into bed. The view from the window beside his bed showed the moonlight glinting off the lake and a breeze rustling the trees. Despite the unease that had planted itself in his stomach, he was very happy to be back at Hogwarts.

-

The next day at breakfast the whole of the Great Hall was abuzz with whispers and rumors about "the new boy". Hogwarts' community was loose-knit but small, and any news of any sort flew through the students faster than an express owl. Harry found Ron, Neville, and Hermione already seated in the middle of the Gryffindor table, their heads bent together, faces serious, conveying a clear message that they, too, were deep in conversation. Personally, he didn't believe half of the rumors himself, but still, a student from Durmstrang didn't exactly come with the best impression.

Ginny sidled up next to him as he approached the table, catching him off guard. "Good morning," she announced, falling into step with him.

"Interesting morning, more like," said Harry. The two of them came upon the other three, and at their arrival Neville, who had been speaking last, broke off and they all glanced up to see who might have heard them.

"Oh, Harry, it's just you," said Hermione in relief as Harry and Ginny sat across from her.

"Now what could you possibly be talking about that you wouldn't want to be overheard?" joked Harry, helping himself to toast and marmalade. "And I'm surprised at you, Hermione, abusing your prefect privileges . . ."

Hermione flushed, compulsively polishing the badge on her chest. Harry and Neville laughed.

"You know we're teasing, Hermione," said Harry. His curiosity got the better of him. "So . . . what do you know?"

"I only told them that he is an English student from Durmstrang. He moved back to England after living most of his life in Bulgaria. No one knows much else."

At that moment Professor Levinsky, Head of Gryffindor House and ex-Russian military, approached them all to hand out their timetables. The sixth years' had to be approved before they could go. Harry had gotten at least an E on all of his requested subjects, so his schedule was easy enough. Ron had managed the required grades on the classes he'd put in for, although Harry had no idea why he wanted to remain in Muggle Studies. Hermione and Neville ended up in all the same classes, which was a reason, Harry supposed, that the two of them had gotten so close in the first place. _Proximity breeds familiarity_, Dad would say, typically with a wink in Ginny's direction. They waited until Levinsky passed further down the table before they started speaking again.

"Does anybody know who he is yet?" asked Harry.

"Well, maybe he'll be in some of our classes and we can find out then," said Ron, perusing his class timetable.

"How on Earth did Slughorn ever let _you_ in his N.E.W.T. class?" prodded Ginny, poking her brother's schedule. Ron shrugged.

"Just lucky, I guess," he said sarcastically.

Harry bit into another piece of toast and looked at his own timetable. It would be Arithmancy and Runes this morning, followed by Transfiguration and double Potions after lunch. The rest of the week didn't look promising, either – he had three double classes on Fridays – but a note at the bottom brightened his spirits.

"It says Levinsky's class starts a week from Tuesday," he announced to the table. Everyone leaned over their timetables simultaneously.

"It's in the evening!" exclaimed Neville. "How are we going to work around –" Hermione gave him a swift elbow in the stomach and he wheezed: "Quidditch training! I meant Quidditch training!"

"I suppose that's up to the teachers, isn't it?" said Elizabeth, who had gone unnoticed near them, having been very quiet making notes on her class schedule. She always marked it up at the beginning of the term with scrawling notes that meant nothing to anyone but her. Harry tucked his away in his pocket.

"Arithmancy first thing," he said. "I've got to go upstairs and grab my books."

Harry left the table and rushed up toward Gryffindor Tower. The morning dawned cloudy and still horribly wet. He thought it would be wonderful to spend the day indoors, and perhaps he could meet that new student . . . The sound of many voices in the previously empty corridor stopped him in his tracks.

"Hello, cousin." That bizarre, hot feeling that grabbed hold of his heart every time he was near Marius Lestrange suddenly stole his breath for a moment. The thin, porcelain-skinned boy standing just a few meters before him flanked by his usual throng of Slytherin admirers struck him more like a vampire than ever. In fact, he looked so like the undead creatures that Harry was surprised he didn't burst into flame when the shaft of light from a nearby window fell across his face. Marius smiled toothily at him.

"No matter what our bloodlines, Marius, I am not your cousin." Marius' smile didn't falter. It never did. The Slytherin stared down at him with dark cobalt eyes set too deep in their sockets. He was heavy-lidded, like his mother, so he had a very twisted, striking stare. Harry met his gaze levelly. Marius laughed a little, his long, silky, black hair reflecting the sunlight as it fell back into place nearly perfectly.

"Really, Harry, I would have thought we could put all this enmity behind us," he said. "After all, we do come of age this year, and I would hate to think that we could be any sort of _threat_ to each other."

"I'm not threatened by you."

The crowd around Marius laughed derisively. His wide smile melted only slightly into a grimace. "Perhaps you should be."

"What, Harry, not getting your things? We'll be late to class if you're not careful."

Harry didn't have to look behind him to feel all of his friends file in. He felt both slightly annoyed by their presence and also comforted. He unclenched his hands and the feeling around his heart faded a little. The smile disappeared from Marius' face. Harry turned a bit to follow his gaze. His eyes had fallen on Hermione, who stood near Neville.

"I'd forgotten you need your army of Mudbloods and blood traitors to back you up," he spat. Harry clenched his fist around his wand.

"Marius, did you sign up for Professor Levinsky's Practical Defense class?" asked Neville. Marius snorted.

"Do you really think I need it, Longbottom?" Neville shrugged.

"Well, I just thought you could use a little brushing up. Because from what I hear you're not up to scratch with your . . . peers." Marius' eyebrow twitched.

"You'll want to watch what you say, Longbottom."

"Aww, Marius, have we hit a nerve?" asked Ron, his long-seated hatred seething through his taught tone. "I mean, you look as though you're getting a little green around the gills."

"Too close to the _mark_, Marius?" added Harry, laying particular emphasis on the word. Marius looked close to exploding and Harry readied himself for the battle he knew would come. It wouldn't be the first time he had gone to wands with Marius, typically with Ron by his side. Their very first year Harry had nearly lost an eye to an exceptionally well-thrown Shattering Charm aimed at his glasses. Of course, Harry hadn't let it go until they'd had another round, this time with Harry sending Marius up to the hospital wing in fourth year with a broken, bloody nose. He felt quite satisfied that there remained a bump on the bridge of his adversary's alabaster nose as a reminder of that incident.

But it wasn't going that far today. Marius seemed to collect himself and he gave another laugh.

"You'll want to hurry to your class, Harry," he said. "Wouldn't do to be late the first day."

The crowd of Slytherins pushed their way through Harry's group. Marius passed between Harry and Hermione, giving Harry quite a hard knock with his shoulder on the way. They watched them walk around the corner.

"Who does he think he is?" said Harry, storming back up to the dormitory. "He thinks just because his bloodline is a generation longer than mine that he can lord it over me. As if I care."

"That's sort of the point of his kind, isn't it?" said Hermione. "Blood worth . . ."

"Scum like him doesn't deserve to be at Hogwarts," said Ron. "His dad's always messing with mine at work. It's because of Rodolphus Lestrange that Dad's never been promoted. He's got the whole Ministry in his pocket, and he's the worst Death Eater fanatic, everybody knows it. I just wish there was a way of keeping those—" Hermione growled "—out of here."

"McGonagall can't turn them away, it would be against everything Hogwarts stands for," said Ginny, though her bitter tone said she shared her brother's opinion.

"That was great though, Harry," said Neville, mercifully ending the subject. "That whole bit about 'close to the mark'."

They reached Gryffindor Tower, and Harry jogged through the portrait hole and up the stairs while his friends waited. Ginny parted ways with them at the Charms corridor, then Ron left them at the next staircase to continue down to Muggle Studies. Class had nearly started when they finally walked into Professor Vector's room and slid into their seats.

The N.E.W.T. level Arithmancy class was so small that the number of desks required for the students was half the number that occupied the room. Hermione made a beeline for the front row while Neville and Harry slid into seats at the very back.

"Welcome back," said Professor Vector, smiling down at them all. The fuzzy-haired, skinny, blonde witch had a very academic air, more so than the other professors. She sat in her chair behind her desk and surveyed them through her horn-rimmed glasses. Harry traced letters onto his desk to spell out _Here we go_, and a second later they disappeared. Neville moved his right arm, which lay haphazardly across his desk and stared at the surface a moment. Subsequently, letters reappeared in Neville's lazy scrawl _Yes, indeed_. Professor Vector began to speak.

"I want to congratulate you all on having paid strict enough attention during the past three years' classes that you managed to pass your Ordinary Wizarding Level in Arithmancy. Now, this year, students, I think we will apply what we have learned in a more practical sense. You have been taught, and whether or not you actually learned it aside, the basic principles of magic: simply put, how and why certain words and wand movements produce effects while others . . . don't. If I could see a show of hands, please, how many of you can manipulate magic through your hands. I don't mean wandless magic," she added. "I mean hand magic. How many of you possess it?"

Harry raised his hand halfway in the air, along with Neville and a few other students. Professor Vector nodded.

"Good, good. I'm glad to see that most of you have decided to continue taking this class. You may lower your hands. The next two years will be very useful to those of you who had your hands in the air. Not to say that others of you will not benefit from the knowledge. Some of you quite especially." She gave a pointed smile at Hermione, who shifted in her seat with pride. Harry paid no attention. "Now, if you could all turn to page six, we'll begin a quick review of simple spell patterns and the properties of the number seven . . ."

Harry's mind immediately began to drift. He couldn't wait to get the first taste of air when he kicked off the Quidditch pitch ground. Then there would be the first game of the season, with the crowd cheering, chanting for Gryffindor as he swooped and dove, and winning the game in mere minutes. Ginny would meet him as they left the pitch, leading their victorious Gryffindors back to the common room to celebrate, and they would skip the party to sneak off somewhere for a secret snog-session . . .

"Harry!"

Harry snapped back to reality. The rest of his class drifted out of the door, and Professor Vector directed erasers over the blackboard. Hermione and Neville both stood over him and a mass of black writing remained across his desk. He waved a hand to erase it then looked back up to his friends.

"Class over already?" he asked. Hermione looked peeved while Neville bit his lip to keep from laughing.

"I don't know _how_ you passed your O.W.L." said Hermione, turning on her heel and leaving. Harry exchanged a look with Neville and the two of them followed her out of the door.

They walked in silence to the Ancient Runes classroom. Hermione had gone a long way in front of them and Neville made no effort to catch up. Harry had a sudden thought and began to chuckle. Neville gave him a sideways look.

"Have you kissed her yet?" Harry asked abruptly. Neville turned white and hastily looked away, quickening his pace.

"What?"

Harry smirked. "You heard me." Neville caught a sudden speech impediment.

"Well . . . I . . .we . . . ha-ha-haven't . . . I mean to say . . . I wouldn't kiss and tell."

Harry laughed a little. "I can't believe you haven't kissed her. After years of liking her, you finally are at liberty to do something like that, and you haven't?"

Neville's ears were pink. "So, Quidditch, Harry," he said quickly. "What d'you think for this season, Captain?"

Harry laughed to himself, but put the Hermione subject in the back of his mind. Suddenly his stomach twisted into knots. He'd been made Quidditch Captain . . . and somehow managed to not think about it until now. He would have to hold trials soon for two Chasers and Beaters, considering all the girls but Katie Bell and the Weasley twins had left the year before. That meant going to Levinsky with a request for pitch time beyond regularly scheduled training sessions. It was a necessary thing, of course, but even as impressive as Levinsky was during classes, knocking on his office door could either give you laughing, jovial Professor Alexei Levinsky or grumbling, moody Lieutenant Levinsky of the Russian Guard. Harry had had his experiences with the Lieutenant. He really didn't want to spin the roulette wheel his first week back.

"Well, we'll have to have trials sometime soon," he said. "If we want any chance of beating Slytherin this year. Macnair has been made Captain, and he's going to replace Maye with Avery, and he's a much better match for us. Then there's the Chasers to worry about. Macnair and Nott had a falling-out last year, so Nott's probably off the team, which means their whole lineup will change based on who works best with the replacement Chaser. So our Chasers will have to be a good match for _anybody_, not just what we think they might do. Ginny's trying out, I know."

"Yeah, so's Jonas."

He gave a noise of surprise. "Really? Can he fly?" Neville shrugged.

"He's been practicing all summer. Bit annoying, really, can't concentrate with him swooping past my bedroom window all hours of the night and day. He should be fairly adequate, with all the nights he kept me up."

Harry nodded thoughtfully. Good . . . it was good to keep his options open. He knew Carolyn would want a spot, but she always played Keeper, and Harry already had Neville and Ron for that. Still, wouldn't be fair to turn anyone down without a trial.

They made it to their Runes class just before the bell signaled tardiness. Professor Hammond gave them a very irritated look as they headed for their seats at the back. Hermione simply turned up her nose and stared straight ahead. Harry and Neville bent their heads in a mock-studious pose, writing back and forth to each other on their desks.

. . . _Are you going out for Keeper again? _asked Harry.

_Dunno . . . suppose I should. Why? Afraid Ron will?_

_Yeah, actually. I don't want to put him in a spot he doesn't really want again this year._

_But he was good on reserve, wasn't he? Didn't seem to mind too much, all that free time he got to spend and didn't get clobbered. He certainly didn't look envious when Goyle cracked my head with his bat last year._

But the problem remained that Ron _was_ envious. He'd spent the nights Neville lay in the hospital wing pacing the common room, either getting up the nerve to ask Angelina to be put in his spot, or resisting the urge to kick something nearby, which very often happened to be a first year. The honest fact persisted that both Ron and Neville were equally talented Keepers, but Neville had the confidence. Ron flaked under pressure, whereas Neville stopped nearly everything in his path.

"And if the boys in the back wouldn't mind taking out their textbooks as well . . ."

Professor Hammond's voice interrupted their steady stream of scribbles. Harry looked up sharply, waving a hand discreetly to erase the conversation. Sheepishly, he reached into his bag and pulled out _Runes and You: The Modern Wizard's Guide to Utilizing the Ancient Magic of Runes_, while beside him Neville did the same. When Professor Hammond had turned back to the blackboard, they looked at each other and rolled their eyes.

Runes was usually the slowest passing period of their schedule, and with great relief Neville and Harry stumbled out into the hallway after it ended. Hermione brushed past them with her nose still in the air. Harry gave Neville a sympathetic glance as his friend rushed off after her. Harry took a deep breath and sighed, enjoying a leisurely pace back to the common room for a workless free period before each one would be filled with homework. Vaguely he wondered whether Ginny had a free period as well.

He wondered just what classes this new student took. So far, he hadn't noticed him, and he thought that since the classes were so small, he would have detected a new presence. Well, if he was really a sixth year, he had to be in at least one class with Harry. He pushed those thoughts to the back of his mind and relaxed.

He climbed through the portrait hole to find the common room crowded with people. From the looks of it the fourth, fifth, and sixth years all had this period free. His heart fell a little; he had been hoping for some secret alone time with Ginny.

She sat on the couch, nose buried in _Unfogging the Future_. He slipped beside her and pulled out his Transfiguration text, only he held it upside-down and glared at it in a very McGonagall-like manner.

"According to the signs," he said, affecting Professor Trelawney's misty tone, "on the eve of the full moon next, a beautiful redhead will come to the bed of a young, charming, intelligent, Quidditch-honed—"

"Four-eyed git," finished Ginny, not even looking away from her book. "Harry, don't you have some homework to do? I have to finish this vocabulary list before Trelawney's class tomorrow, and I haven't even started on my Potions essay."

"You won't finish it," he said knowingly. Ginny looked up from her book, leaned forward, and scribbled some writing on the parchment in front of her.

"What makes you say that?" she asked blandly, raising her book back up to her face.

"My Inner Eye told me so," he replied.

"Really now?"

"Oh yes. I'm very intuitive that way."

Ginny made another scribble. "So what else does your Inner Eye say? Why won't I finish it?"

Harry leaned forward so his face was hidden behind her textbook, too. "Because you'll be too busy making out with that four-eyed git."

Ginny didn't move, but Harry thought he saw her eyes widen for a moment. "Harry, we're in a room full of people," she said. He knew that. He hadn't really intended upon kissing here on the couch . . . or, in fact, anything close to actually "making out" at all. They'd only held each others' hands and faces while they'd kissed before. Kissing with hands roaming where they wished and emotions being stirred that had never been let loose before was out of the question. For now. Of course, she'd refused, but hadn't her eyes widened at the prospect? He'd have to wonder later.

"I know," he said. "I was teasing you." He gave her an innocent peck on the cheek (though he really wanted more) and left her to her homework.

Suddenly he remembered his own Potions essay lay unfinished in his dormitory. Deciding to work on it now instead of later that night (he'd probably have to speak with Levinsky about Quidditch trials), he jogged up the stairs and fished through his trunk to find what he had already written.

He had just settled down on his bed to write the next sentence (and smooth out the wrinkled parchment) when something crashed into the dormitory door. He stared at it, waiting, but when nothing happened for several seconds, he went back to his essay. Then it happened again, this time accompanied by a rather loud giggle. _What on earth . . .?_

The doorknob turned and the giggling grew louder. Seamus and Lavender, attached to each other's faces and grasping at each other's shirts stumbled backward into the room, Lavender giggling into Seamus' mouth. They knocked into the end of several beds before they finally made it to Seamus'. Lavender's giggle became more high-pitched and they were quickly becoming horizontal. Harry realized he'd better say something or he would be an unwitting voyeur to a very unpleasant scene.

"Hullo, Seamus. Lavender, fancy seeing you here!"

The giggling stopped and both of their heads snapped in his direction. Harry grinned at their shocked faces. Immediately, Lavender pushed herself off Seamus and tugged her shirt straight.

"Harry, I didn't know you were up here," Seamus said. He looked only slightly embarrassed (really, he looked disappointed), but Lavender flushed pink up to her hairline. Harry tried not to laugh at the sight. After a very long, awkward pause, during which Harry looked back to his Potions homework, Seamus finally said, "Well then . . . S'pose I'll see you later," and they both left. Harry could hear Lavender start complaining as soon as the door had closed. He shook his head and laughed to himself. Suddenly he was very glad that he and Ginny weren't at that place in their relationship.

Yet, he told himself, concentrating on Potions. Yet.

---

Elizabeth trudged through the portrait hole after supper dragging her heavy bag behind her. She crossed the room, sat beside Jonas on the opposite end of a chaise in the Gryffindor common room, and started sorting through her homework from the first day. The plans for a study schedule ticked out on her timetable helped her somewhat, but she knew that she was going to have to spend an unpleasantly long time with Potions. She was fairly good at it, but the more they focused on practical potion-making and less on the theory of it, the more difficult it became.

_Don't think about Potions right now_, she said. _Charms. Think about Charms. What did Flitwick ask us to describe . . . ?_

"You don't happen to know the properties of orangewood, do you?" asked Jonas beside her.

"None," she said automatically, shuffling her papers around. "Orangewood is poor wand-making material and is used in very few potions, and even then only as a vehicle for other ingredients too volatile to mix directly."

Everyone thought that Carolyn was the Potions authority in her family, but truth be told Elizabeth had more knowledge about it. The difference between the two was like the difference between Hermione and the Weasley twins: Hermione had earned her knowledge within rules, from lessons in classes and in books, while the twins taught themselves. Elizabeth was no Hermione, but she knew her way around a Potions textbook.

Jonas continued scribbling away next to her, apparently not completely through with his summer homework. Elizabeth leafed through her papers, trying to decide which bit she wanted to start first . . .

She had just selected Charms when a huge yawn seized her. Suddenly very tired, she rolled her parchment up and put everything away in her book bag. She made her excuses to Jonas and climbed the stairs to her dormitory.

She wanted a bath then she wanted bed. The last colors of the sunset were beginning to fade, and it would only be a while until her roommates came up for bed, noisy and excited and chattering just as they had been last night. Faye McCready had spent _hours_ speculating about the "new boy," whom Elizabeth had no interest in whatsoever . . . the poor boy ought to be left alone. Then Nora Clayborne had revealed an issue of _Teen Witch_ with young Quidditch superstar Daniel Beckwith on the cover, his signature "mysterious grin" rising and fading on his face as he stared out at them all, the very model of masculinity, and a massive article pasted throughout with pull-outs and pin-ups of Beckwith and his fellow Montrose Magpies. The squealing had continued long into the night. Elizabeth, needless to say, got very little sleep.

Hoping she would be far gone by the time her roommates joined her, she stole into her room and took her pajamas and a fuzzy blue bathrobe with her down the hall to the lavatory. As she reached the end of the hallway, she passed the room that had the past year been labeled "7th Years", now rechristened for the new students. She wondered how long it had taken Carolyn to completely trash it with her useless potion inventions. She also wondered if her roommates despised her; perhaps they found her as annoying as Elizabeth did. That gave her a bit of satisfaction, thinking of Carolyn's peers ostracizing her for her queer sleeping habits and smelly fascination with potions. Perhaps it would be the tempering she needed and Elizabeth would find fewer pests in her belongings from now on. She was tempted to sneak a glance into the room, since everyone sat downstairs enjoying their last technically homework-free night. No one would know, and she could see if her guess was right about Carolyn's potions. Cautiously, she turned the knob and opened the door a crack.

The room was spotless. Each girl's bed had been neatly made and the covers turned down, their clothing organized and laundry sorted. No potions in sight. _Blasted elves_, she thought bitterly. Disappointed, she turned to continue on her trek to the bathroom when she heard an odd sound. A sniffle, from somewhere on the space of the circular room without a window, had reached her ears. Someone was in there, and sounded quite upset. Elizabeth opened the door a little wider and stepped in.

"Hello?" she asked. The sniffling ceased. "Are you all right?" she asked. Nothing came. "I . . . I heard a noise and I thought, maybe . . ." She had stepped closer to the area the sniffing came from. She held her breath for a moment, listening. Then she heard it again, from the bed just on her left. She turned to it and walked around so she had a better view.

She saw the hair first, orange as early autumn leaves and bobbed short just below her ears. Her knees were tucked up under her chin, exposing the knobbly white things as they jutted out of long grey socks. She wore the same shoes she had worn to visit the Dursleys, though they weren't nearly as shiny as they had been then. Her arms were wrapped around her legs and she had buried her nose between her uncovered knees. Suddenly Elizabeth felt badly for thinking all the things she had.

"What do you want?" Carolyn asked miserably. "Come to yell at me?"

"No," Elizabeth said slowly, walking around the bed. "I heard sniffing, and I thought someone was in here . . ."

"And they probably wanted to be alone." Elizabeth reached out a hand to her sister, but she pulled her shoulder away. So instead she sat on the foot of the bed, far enough away from her to give her space, but close enough to comfort her.

"It's okay to miss Mum and Dad," ventured Elizabeth. "I missed them horribly my first year. It's difficult coming to Hogwarts your first time, especially if your roommates are prats to you . . ."

"My roommates are good. This isn't exactly the definition of being left alone."

She tried a different tack. "Well . . . I guess I should leave you alone, then. But as long as you're up here, you should try and study. The further you are ahead, the easier your classes will be."

She was nearly to the door when a small voice whispered, "I miss Mum." She smiled a little, then turned back to her younger sibling. "I know, I do, too. You could write her a letter, you know. If you really miss her all that much."

Carolyn nodded, then let out a huge sniff. "I'm going to fail out of Hogwarts," she said. "I'm miserable at my classes, I'm never going to get any better; I'm completely useless. Professor McGonagall put me on the far side of the room from all of my friends because she said we were 'infuriating chatterboxes'. There's just too much work, and I've got double classes the last three days of the week . . ."

Elizabeth sat back down on the bed. "First of all, you will not fail out of Hogwarts. Rarely ever does someone _fail_ out of Hogwarts. Second, of course you're miserable at your classes! It was your first day as a first year! No one is good on their first day! You're not useless. And you'll learn more in McGonagall's class if you're sitting away from your friends . . . Imagine all the horrible, nasty things you can do to my possessions when you've finished this term." Carolyn laughed. "As for the work and the classes, just take everything one assignment at a time and finish it promptly. That's the most important thing, and if you get it done early, maybe you'll have extra time to practice Quidditch or something with that illegal broom of yours."

She seemed to brighten at this prospect, and Elizabeth stood to go. "See, it won't be so bad. Just give it some time."

Again she had nearly reached at the door when Carolyn said, albeit more loudly this time, "Thanks, Lizzie. I love you." Elizabeth smiled and crossed the room to give Carolyn a hug.

"I love you, too." After a few seconds Carolyn pushed away.

"Now get out of here before my mates come in and think I've gone all soft."

Elizabeth laughed, but left to take her bath. She'd taken rather longer than she'd hoped, and she returned to her dormitory to find it filled with her roommates. They barely glanced at her as she came in, swooning over Nora's most recent issue of _Teen Witch_ (this time with wizarding socialite Rhianna Fletcher on the cover, flipping her long blonde hair and winking periodically). Elizabeth rolled her eyes, then climbed into bed with her novel and tried to read herself to sleep.

---

Remus tugged his cloak around him and reached up to place his palm on the door. The Order of the Phoenix headquarters was hidden, Unplottable and concealed from Muggle eyes, on a windswept moor somewhere in Yorkshire, and while it was all right during the day, it turned horribly cold at night. As soon as the heel of his palm lay flat against the door, he heard a crack, as if several latches were being undone at once, and the door swung open. Remus blinked against the bright light emanating from it and slid inside.

It wasn't much warmer indoors than out, he noted, keeping his cloak wrapped around him. He passed by dark rooms set up like offices, some with nameplates on the door, others bare except for their desk and chair. The only light shone here in the hallway, but Remus knew where to go.

At the end of the corridor a large atrium with a vaulted ceiling and lined above with the railings of the second floor balcony jutted up above him. This had once been the country house of some rich Order member's family, but had long since been converted into headquarters. It was ideal because of its remote location, and had always been Unplottable, so no one would notice its disappearance. That, and it was much pleasanter than Sirius' family home.

Remus continued through the atrium to a set of large, wooden double doors, which opened again under the presence of his palm. As soon as the doors had parted, the sound of many voices drifted through.

They were in a large room hung with a brilliant chandelier and lined with rows of benches set in semi-circles. Each row of benches represented a circle in the Order, with higher level members sitting in the front. At the front of the benches stood a long table, behind which sat his friends James Potter and Sirius Black, flanked on either side by Alastor Moody and Minerva McGonagall. Remus went to the front-most bench filled by Lily, Alice, and her husband. He slid wearily into his seat next to Frank Longbottom, who greeted him with a grin.

"Good news tonight?" asked Remus. Frank shrugged.

"Dunno. I guess we'll have to wait and see."

They waited for a few more minutes while other witches and wizards filed into the room and found their seats. The organized system made for much less pandemonium than would be expected from such a large group of wizards. When everyone more or less found their seats, James raised his wand and everyone fell silent.

"Official Order Meeting 214, minutes to be transcribed by Nymphadora Tonks," said James in a very official tone. Tonks, the young Auror's hair a bright shade of turquoise and combed across her forehead, scowled at either the use of her forename or her position as secretary. Remus chuckled to himself. A brief moment of silence passed before James sat again and his voice returned to normal. "I guess you've all heard the rumors that have been circulating this summer . . ." he began.

"My kid asked me about _him_," called a voice from the back. "I don't think there's anyone who hasn't heard the rumors."

James nodded diplomatically. "Right. Well, I just wanted to remind you all that they are, indeed, just rumors. We've heard them before, and there is no evidence that this is any different. I would also like to remind you to restrain yourselves from unauthorized contact with Death Eaters and any sort of premature celebration if, indeed, his return is fact."

A grumble rustled through the crowd. James was being very professional tonight, which meant that there was more going on than he let on. Remus watched as Sirius remained silent and still, another sign that they knew more than they were sharing. Hopefully it wasn't anything vital. Such as that Dumbledore sighting in Surrey had been legitimate. James ran a hand through his hair.

"Okay, important business. We've gotten wind that Voldemort might have a new weapon. Thanks to our spy, we know that this is something he has been working on for quite a while now, and it may be ready to use sometime within the next year. We still don't know exactly what it is, but our informant is working hard to gain intelligence on that.

"If anyone has any information, please approach the table after the meeting has been adjourned. For now, I'd just like everyone to lay low, and when we have new data it will be passed to you as soon as possible." He again raised his wand, Tonks' quill stopped scribbling, and the meeting was adjourned. Everyone funneled out quickly, each rushing to get home to wives, or families, or to get to sleep for work in the morning. Lily and Alice gave their husbands quick kisses before leaving to lead a meeting of their fellow female informants that worked in the Ministry with them.

The Order met once a month, without fail, whether it had anything to share or not. It had become so big since the early days that they had to. And without Dumbledore to organize them . . .

The rumors had been so fervent lately that Remus was almost tempted to believe them, even if for nothing but wishful thinking. It had been such a short time between Dumbledore's asking them all to join the Order and his disappearance that Remus even wondered if he actually knew what it was like when he'd been there, or whether he'd idealized it in his head. The members were growing impatient, James' leadership was losing its respect, Sirius was itching for something to do, Alastor was ready to hex them all into oblivion, and Frank . . . Frank was a father, loyal to too many people for his own good.

When everyone had left, James let out a huge breath and slumped forward onto the table. Sirius patted his back and laughed cynically.

"Well, Prongs, I'd say that was a particularly successful meeting. They're not getting frustrated with you at all."

"If we knew something I'd _tell_ them," James growled into the table. "I wish they'd understand that."

"Impatient bunch, the lot of 'em," snarled Alastor. "They'll get theirs when they go rushing off to do something foolish and end up dying because they just couldn't wait."

"Not everyone here is an Auror, Alastor," said Minerva. "They're ordinary people, with families they want to protect. It's asking a great deal of them wait."

Alastor grunted and sat back, though the expression on his marred and wizened face said he was anything but appeased. Remus could have cut the tension with a Severing Charm. Quiet drifted through the air like something tangible, seeping into and out of his pores and amplifying every tiny sound in his ears. The air hung heavy with the words no one would say.

"Well, we've known for years what we do in a situation like this," said Frank suddenly. "They'll get over it, the rumors will pass, things will start to look up for us. Just like they always have." A few more quiet moments passed as the words sank in. "Now, the question is . . . what do we do if it's true?"

There was always a problem with sitting back and waiting. Everyone on some level believed that winning this war could not happen without Dumbledore. So hope cropped up when these rumors circulated, even among the ones who claimed not to believe in them. In cases like this, even the people like James and Sirius who were trying to dissuade people from putting their faith in the rumors, no one could convince anyone to think "rationally."

No one got a chance to answer Frank's question. At that moment, the doors crashed open and a very wet, very battered man came dashing up the aisle toward them. James and Sirius stood so quickly they knocked their chairs backward.

"Identify yourself!" cried James, wand out.

"Dashwood . . ." gasped the man, limping the last few meters to the table. "Nigel . . . Dashwood . . . third circle . . ."

"Check the log!" yelled Sirius to no one in particular, rushing down to help Dashwood. Remus jogged over to Tonks' left notes, where each attending member of each meeting was automatically recorded. Using an enchantment similar to that of the Marauder's Map, only those who knew the correct pass phrase could read what was written.

"_I solemnly swear that I will help bring down Voldemort_," he said, tapping the parchment with his wand. Nothing happened. He tried again. Nothing. They must have changed the phrase. "Padfoot, what's the pass phrase?"

"_I solemnly swear that Snape is an ugly git_," said Sirius, quite truthfully, helping the injured Dashwood to a bench. Remus rolled his eyes, but tried it. The list of attending Order members appeared before his eyes. Sure enough, Dashwood's name did not appear.

"No, he's not here," he said, wiping the list clean. Sirius tried to get the man to catch his breath. There was very little danger of an impostor passing through the doors into headquarters, because the doors had been enchanted to recognize not fingerprints but the very imprint of a person. The locks would come undone only to a true member of the Order. A traitor could not even pass through.

Dashwood had caught his breath enough to speak by the time Remus reached him. Sirius had knelt down in front, while James stood behind him. Minerva hung back a bit and watched carefully, Alastor stood directly behind Dashwood, and Remus took his place back a bit and behind Sirius' other shoulder. The subject of their attention grasped at his knees and didn't meet their gaze.

"There's been an attack," he said in a rush. "The Hewitts, in Lancashire, near Downham. I don't know how many, but . . ." He choked on a sob. "I think they're dead."

Remus couldn't help but be affected. The Hewitts had just become members of the Order recently. They had three small children, all under Hogwarts age, so the whole family would have been at home. No one said anything for a moment as Remus somberly walked back over to the log.

"_I solemnly swear that Snape is an ugly git_," he said.

"You've got to change that back," said James quietly.

"I know," replied Sirius.

Remus scanned the list. No Hewitt came up. Slowly, he raised his gaze and made a negative sign. Dashwood let out an odd noise, and everyone around him hung their heads. Sirius fingered his wand intensely, looking ready to do battle. Remus knew what he thought: if the Death Eaters were still in the area, they would have to be dealt with. Lancashire was too close to headquarters to let them go without some sort of action, although still far away enough to be a coincidence.

"Sirius, Alastor, and Frank, come with me," said James suddenly. He'd apparently read his friend's body language as well and decided to act. "Minerva, Remus, stay here with Dashwood." Then the four of them left, without as much as another word.

Minerva began to immediately tend to Dashwood's wet clothes, her lips pursed into a very thin line. If Remus was correct, Adam Hewitt had been at Hogwarts just a few short years ago. A prefect from Hufflepuff, if he remembered how Minerva had described him. "He should have gone in my House," she'd said once. Not that it was her House since Dumbledore had gone, but it didn't matter. And if he could still recall correctly, Adam and his wife would be about twenty-three and twenty-four. And their oldest child would be five.

This was the worst attack to happen in nearly twelve years. Remus knew why Sirius had looked so angry and James had been so quick to act. Voldemort's attacks had been intensifying ever since the Dumbledore rumors had resurfaced. It meant that he believed them this time. And it meant, more significantly, that he would be reviving his campaign with greater fervor.

Remus reached down to help Minerva get Dashwood back on his feet. He seemed to have twisted his ankle pretty badly, but they wouldn't know for certain until they could get him to a proper infirmary bed. Headquarters had its own Healer and hospital because too many injuries from the same people would draw suspicion at St. Mungo's, and while the Order kept casual secrecy, it was still vital to keep it an unspoken truth. The last thing the Order of the Phoenix wanted to become was the Ministry's private army.

Dashwood moaned as his supporters lowered him onto a bed. On further inspection, his ankle protruded at a very odd angle, jutting out unnaturally between his calf and his foot. Remus was amazed he'd been able to use it at all. He'd clearly seen some action, judging by the scorch marks on his robes and the deep gashes on his arms and face. He relaxed a little as he could put his full weight on the bed, and Minerva set about calling the Healer. Remus gave the man a small smile as he nodded off to sleep.

_God, if You're listening_, he thought, _we could make good use of a miracle sometime soon._

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Author's Notes: Okay, everyone, please remember this is a rough test-draft of this story . . . all constructive criticism welcomed, encouraged, etc, but please keep the pitchforks at home! Thank you all so much for reading, and I can only hope I haven't alienated all of you completely. Your suggestions, compliments, criticisms all mean so much to me . . . keep them coming! Flames are less likely to be paid attention to than legitimate critiquing, so if you really have awful things to say, present them to me intelligently, and I'll take them to heart. I love you all!

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Disclaimer: I own nothing. Harry Potter belongs to Scholastic, Warner Brothers, Bloomsbury, and, of course, J.K. Rowling. Marius Lestrange, Jonas Longbottom, Elizabeth and Carolyn Potter, and a few other things belong to my overactive imagination. 


	4. Trials and Tribulations

**Chapter Three  
****Trials and Tribulations**

_**Quidditch Trials This Saturday  
**__Gryffindors of all years may attend  
__Bring your own broom  
__16.00 at the Quidditch Pitch_

Harry had barely posted this notice before he was bombarded with questions: how many open positions, would he be considering replacement players for currently filled spots, had he promised anyone a reserve position, and would he promise _them_? Finally, he posted an addendum to the notice:

_Please hold all questions until trials_

His workload had quickly picked up after the first few days of class. His free periods, instead of being blissfully filled with romantic Ginny-time, were filled with just trying to keep up. Professor Vector had taken to assigning them two essays a period, and McGonagall was about two lessons away from magically monitoring their practice time outside of class if their performance didn't pick up. He had just begun to work into a sort of routine, and now he realized he would have to add both Practical Defense classes and Quidditch practice. He suddenly felt very overwhelmed.

As for the business with the new student, Harry had noticed a new blonde boy in his Potions, Transfiguration, and Defense classes, but nothing remarkable about him, which was both a relief and a disappointment. In fact, Harry had almost quite forgotten he was there. It had been a big disappointment that the only real attraction the new boy garnered was from girls, and even they kept their distance. Harry was too busy to give him a second thought.

The rest of the week melted past, and before Harry had even started to ready himself for it, Saturday had arrived. He made his way through the common room earlier than usual for breakfast, accompanied only by Hermione, since everyone else was either asleep or preparing for the trials that afternoon.

"Are they really going to spend all morning practicing?" asked Hermione as she and Harry settled into the nearly empty Gryffindor table in the Great Hall.

"I guess." He picked at the food on his plate. Wouldn't it all be easier if he just kept the lineup basically the same?

"Don't revert to nepotism, Harry," said Hermione as though she could read his thoughts. "You'll put together a good team as long as you judge them on how well they fly."

She was right, but the knot in Harry's stomach wouldn't disappear. His two best friends were trying for the same spot, and one of them would be disappointed. He tried not to think about it as he chewed and attempted to swallow. The toast wouldn't go down his throat.

The morning passed agonizingly slowly. Hermione left him to study in the library for a few hours before she would go down to the pitch to watch the trials. Harry left to roam on his own, partly seeking out his friends, partly just wandering. Finally, the afternoon came, and it was time to set up.

After putting the tables and forms in place and bringing out the ball trunk, Harry jogged into the locker room and pulled on his wrist and shin guards. An amazing sight greeted him when he entered the Quidditch pitch. It seemed nearly the whole House had turned out to try for a spot on the team. And they were all early.

"Harry, there you are!" exclaimed Hermione as he entered the pitch. "Everyone's ready . . ." She trailed off as he simply gave her a nod and walked past. The crowd gathered in front of the stands watched him like he held the fate of their lives in his hands. Ron and Neville stood among them, while Ginny and Carolyn's red heads poked up somewhere in the middle. There was Katie Bell, really only as a formality. Jonas Longbottom stood in the front, clutching his broomstick with white knuckles. There were many students he did not know, and he immediately regretted opening trials to first years.

"Okay," he said loudly, clearing his throat. "Well, since you're all here, I think we can start. On the table here—" he gestured to the parchment he had just laid out "—are lists on which I want you to post your names and take a number. That number will be on your chest and back during trials today so I can identify you. Please sign your name under the position you would like to try for. Only put your name under one position, _please_. If you are interested in another position, let me know after your first round has been finished. Are there any questions?"

A tiny first year at the front put his hand in the air. "What's your name?" he asked. The crowd laughed.

"It's Harry Potter," chuckled Harry. "I'm your captain." He addressed the rest of the crowd. "Let's have a good trial everyone."

The hopefuls filed over to the table, and it took a full twenty minutes for everyone to put their name in and for the numbers to appear on their robes. When they'd finished, Harry collected the parchment and shuffled through to pull the Chaser list to the front.

"If you signed up to try for Chaser, please come over here. Everyone else, wait in the stands."

A group of about fifteen students, including Katie, Ginny, and Jonas, trouped over. Harry divided them into three smaller sections and instructed them all to fly around the pitch so he could observe them in the air. The first group was all right, though three of the five were first years lucky to stay on their brooms. Harry asked them to wait to the side and sent the other three on their way. The next group was pretty impressive, including a remarkably confident Jonas, and Harry asked them all to stay. The final group contained both Ginny and Katie, and Harry sent only one out of the pitch when they'd returned to the ground.

"Okay, now I'm going to Keep for you while you each throw penalty shots," he said. The first few hopefuls got nervous and missed all three of their tries, which caused them to be dismissed from the pitch nearly in tears, but then a small boy with the number 16 emblazoned on his robes came at him like a streak of black lightning and got two of his three shots past Harry. Harry congratulated him and checked his notes. Noah Smith, a fourth year. Harry made a note and turned his attention to the next player.

Ginny got all of her shots past Harry and Katie did the same, only she even managed to make him foul her once. The last one to fly was the one Harry had been most curious about. Jonas Longbottom took the Quaffle Harry had tossed back to Katie and rose hesitantly into the air.

Jonas came closer at a notably slow pace, then suddenly picked up speed and chucked the Quaffle toward a hoop. It passed over Harry's left shoulder and through onto the other side. He'd made one. His second pass was much more confident; Jonas swooped into a vertical dive before turning sharply left and catching Harry off guard. He'd made his second shot. His third shot came, and Harry waited to see what he'd do. He looked incredibly nervous, almost as though his luck had run out, and sure enough, Harry was able to block him.

"Good!" said Harry as he landed. "I'm going to call the numbers of the six players I'd like to stay and place as starters and reserve. Everybody else, thanks for coming, and if there is _really_ another position you're interested in, you can stay.

"All right, then, in random order, number three, Katie Bell, number twenty, Sarah Noble, number ten, Demelza Robins, number sixteen, Noah Smith, number fourteen, Ginny Weasley, and number nine, Jonas Longbottom."

Jonas looked so shocked Harry thought he was in danger of having his eyes fall out of his head. Harry couldn't help but smile a little at the younger boy's reaction. High up in the stands, out of the corner of his eye, Harry caught a lone figure practically dancing with joy. His sister, remarkably tiny from this distance, celebrated with a solitary victory dance. His smile broadened, and he chuckled to himself.

It took some talking to get the rejected Chasers off the pitch. Finally, Harry threatened to hex them if they didn't leave, and that sent them off running. He turned back to the six chosen.

"Okay, everybody, you've made the team. Whether you start or are on reserve will depend on how well you work together and how well you work under real game stress conditions." He let loose the Bludgers that had been straining against their holds in the box beside him. "I want you to use teamwork, think quickly, and most of all, show me what you've got!"

Harry Kept again, and was amazed to observe how differently each candidate performed under the pressure. Katie did as well as she had at any of their previous matches, and Ginny was spectacular at dodging the Bludgers and getting goals past him. She and Katie worked quite well together, too. Sarah Noble, a little second year who looked as though she'd been born with a broom in her hand, naturally teamed up with Jonas, who had a couple of close encounters with a Bludger, but still managed to score a few goals.

After a while, the duo that was Ginny and Katie was joined by a third: Noah Smith. The three looked like they had been Chasing together for years. Harry grinned and called for them to stop.

"Well done, everybody," he said. "Our starting Chasers this year will be Katie Bell, Ginny Weasley, and Noah Smith." Those three congratulated each other. "Which means that Demelza, Sarah, and Jonas will be our reserves."

He couldn't help but notice the slightly disappointed look on Jonas' face, but he had more players to get on with. The Beaters were next, a set Harry wasn't particularly concerned about, scanning the list. But wait . . . there had to be a mistake.

"Ron, I think you've got your name on the wrong list," he said. His friend came forward.

"What, am I not with the Beaters?" he asked, leaning over to look on the list.

Harry looked up at him. "You're going out for Beater?" Ron nodded. "Oh . . ." Well, that made things less complicated. But he couldn't help noticing the odd look on his face as he walked away.

"Okay, Beaters, over here," he called. The trial went more quickly than the Chasers' had, with Harry deciding on Ron and Seamus Finnigan easily. The others could chuck the Bludger quite decisively, but Ron and Seamus worked well as a team and Seamus could actually aim. They joined the selected Chasers on the sidelines as the Keepers had their turn.

Each of the new Chasers, both reserve and starting, were sent at each of the Keepers trying out. Neville blocked all of them, while number five, Cormac McLaggen missed just one. Carolyn, one of three first years who made it through to actually try, missed two, making Neville the starting Keeper and putting McLaggen in the reserves.

Harry let the Keepers come to join the group and then he congratulated them. "Well, practices will start next week and be posted on the notice board. I'll see you all then."

The team dispersed, chatting excitedly to each other. The crowd that had gathered in the stands rushed down to join them. Harry watched Elizabeth skip down from her high perch and launch herself onto Jonas, who looked very pleased with himself (although whether it was making the team or having Elizabeth launch herself onto him that made him so pleased Harry didn't know). Hermione gave Neville a congratulatory hug and together the group walked to the castle.

Harry set about cleaning up, thankful they didn't have to try a new Seeker, gazing lovingly at the tiny gold ball safe in its spot in the ball crate. He reached out and gently touched its smooth surface. Maybe a quick go wouldn't hurt . . .

Making sure he was completely alone, he popped the Snitch out of its restraints and let it soar off into the air. He gave it a few seconds to get lost, then he kicked off the ground and began his search for it.

It wasn't exactly the same without the Bludgers whizzing past his ear, the sound of the commentator, the thrill of being ahead, the anxiety of being down, and the general roar of the crowd that filled Quidditch matches, but this was a refreshing moment. He was alone with the Snitch; physically where he tried to be mentally during matches.

He couldn't see any sign of it, and for a moment he thought maybe he'd lost it. Panic rising, he searched the pitch frantically.

Wait . . . there it was . . . hovering mere inches above the ground. A grin spread across his face and he positioned himself just slightly to the right of the thing, keeping his eyes on it the whole time. He readied himself, circled once, then fell into a spectacularly vertical dive. This was his favorite part: rocketing toward the earth at breakneck speed, clutching the slender handle of his broomstick with his hands and ankles, trying against gravity to stay in his seat, the wind whipping his hair back and threatening to pull his glasses off his face. His sense of timing honed with years of crashing headlong into the ground, he inhaled sharply as he yanked up on the handle of his broom, bringing him back horizontal, and a split second later he'd reached out his hand and his fingers were wrapped safely around the Snitch. Even without the rest of the game, that thrill would lift his spirits every time.

"Nice catch," came a voice. "Too bad there isn't a game tonight, eh?"

Harry nearly fell off his broom at the gruff voice behind him. Not wanting to lose hold of the Snitch or his broom, he could only turn sharply to see who had intruded upon his solitude.

Professor Levinsky stood there, looking amused, wearing a pair of old corduroys and a red plaid button-down. He looked like some sort of twisted lumberjack with his broad shoulders, trim, square build, and the greying fringe that fell into his dark eyes. He crossed his arms as he looked at Harry.

"You are fully aware you're not allowed out here on your own," he said in his severe voice. Remarkably, he held very little trace of a Russian accent. Harry assumed his work in the Guard had required him to be fluent in many languages and accent-free. He had always been fascinated by the tantalizing bits the Professor had hung before them about his old life he'd locked away somewhere on the Siberian tundra. He was Harry's favorite professor, although he was his Head of House and did teach his favorite subject, so that didn't hurt his cause. Harry grinned at him.

"But I'm not on my own," he said impudently. "You're here, Professor."

Levinsky snorted. "Don't try your cheek with me, boy. I know hexes that would send your tongue as far away as Alaska, and you might not be able to get it back to properly kiss your female admirers, whoever that happens to be this month."

Harry shook his head. "Not anymore, Professor," he said, letting the Snitch escape his grasp for a few feet then catching it again. Levinsky laughed.

"Ah, so you've decided to give up the ruse and go completely for the same sex, then? Or perhaps lifelong celibacy interests you."

Harry gave him a dark look. "I mean about the monthly female admirers. They're not monthly anymore."

"Weekly, then. Sounds fair. Each one should get a second go, I think. Gives them a rather fighting chance at capturing your attention for more than an hour at a time."

His romantic life wasn't usually such an obsession with Levinsky. Harry decided he either felt incredibly good-humored today, or he'd had a mind-addling experience the past summer. He didn't really mind answering the gruff man truthfully, since his secret was perfectly safe. Wait . . . when had it become a secret?

"No. I . . . well, there's a girl who's lasted longer, that's all."

"Ginny Weasley."

Harry was so surprised he accidentally lost his grip on the Snitch. "How did you know?" he asked, grasping for the feathered thing before it could get away. Levinsky laughed.

"She caught me in the hallway and asked me to 'Bring my boyfriend inside, the stupid git.'" He'd affected a very droll monotone when quoting Ginny, which seemed to amuse him. "I could only assume it was you."

So Ginny'd called him her boyfriend. Interesting. He guessed he should probably set about calling her his girlf- . . . yeah, that, pretty soon.

"You've signed up for my class," said Levinsky. Harry nodded. "Good man. If there's anyone who could go without it, it's you, but there's never enough practice time in the world. Plus, you might learn something you didn't know before. Lecture is important as well, no matter how much your dad's taught you."

Harry hadn't thought about his father's training for quite a while. He'd always dismissed it as just an excuse Dad used to give them more father-son time. The last thing he'd learned had been how to duck. He'd thought it funny at the time, but the more he thought about it, the more practical he found it. Levinsky gave him a rough pat on the shoulder.

"You really should go in," he said. "Before McGonagall has your head."

Harry nodded, then dismounted his broom and tucked the Snitch away. He levitated the trunk into the locker room, then tucked his treasured Firebolt over his shoulder and made his way back into the castle.

Gryffindor common room was flooded with noise and activity. Apparently, someone threw the new Quidditch team a "good luck" party, judging by the giant banner above the fireplace bellowing "Good Luck!" to match its chartreuse block letters every few minutes. Dean and a few younger students, including two fourth years Harry knew as Logan Quincy and Nate Dashwood, greeted him, beaming.

"Like it, Harry?" he asked. "We decided we'd do it as sort of a good luck party for the team, and for the year."

Somewhere something roared like a lion, causing all the gathered first years in a corner to screech. Harry looked around the room and saw that even the rejected players were enjoying themselves. Hermione had put aside her books for the moment and was toasting a good season with Neville, Ron, and Ginny, while Elizabeth and Jonas sat in their usual spot, sipping punch and talking intimately. Lavender had plastered herself to Seamus, and the two were kissing quite intently somewhere near the staircase. Harry made a note to himself to knock before he went upstairs. He turned back to Dean and grinned.

"Yeah, it's really good!" he said. Dean clapped him on the back.

"Go join your party, mate!"

Harry crossed over to his friends, who laughed about something that had happened at try-outs. They all extended their greetings to Harry as he approached, and someone clapped a glass of punch into his hand.

"Good picks this year," said Neville. "Should be the best team we've had in years."

"Ah, you say that every year," said Dean as he passed. Neville shook his head.

"No, it's true. We've got Chasers that are impossible to pursue." Here Ginny cheered. "We've got Beaters that are quite unbeatable." Ron raised his glass. "A Seeker whose prowess cannot be sought." Harry laughed. "And, of course, a Keeper you just _can't keep down_!"

The group applauded him as he gave mock bows to those nearby that had been listening. Harry thoroughly enjoyed himself the rest of the night, and as it grew dark, he found that he did not want to go to bed. Hermione eventually excused herself, claiming one Butterbeer too many and she wanted to sleep. Ginny went soon after, saying she was already too far behind in her homework and wanted to get an early start in the morning. Harry watched her go with an admiring gaze, the ruby of her hair caught in the dimming light, swinging in time with her hips. Neville chuckled beside him.

"You're caught, aren't you?" he asked. Harry blinked and looked at him. Neville grinned in response.

"You're caught, my friend. And since when is Harry Potter caught?"

Harry shifted in his chair. "I'm not caught. And who says that, anyway?"

Neville plopped into the chair next to Harry. "Ladies and gentlemen, the womanizing days of Harry Potter are over! The wild stallion has been tamed by Ginny Weasley at last!"

"Would you not refer to me as a wild stallion, please?"

"Ah, but you admit you're tamed?"

Harry gave Neville's chair a sound kick. "I admit nothing. You need to keep your large mouth shut."

"All the better to kiss you with, my dear," Neville croaked. Harry rolled his eyes.

"Well, where's Ron? He's keeping awfully quiet in this."

"I've gone temporarily deaf and haven't heard anything you've said about my little sister," said Ron from the sofa. Neville laughed.

Harry kicked his feet absently as he stared into the fire. Thoughts of Ginny were pushed aside by Slughorn's essay and McGonagall's mandatory practicing. Marius Lestrange had transfigured Harry's teacup into a viper on Friday which had proceeded to bite Hufflepuff Hannah Abbott on the ankle. Harry had been blamed, of course, and was given detention. Hannah spent the night in the hospital wing. Marius chuckled all the way to the Slytherin dungeons.

"I think we need to pay back Lestrange," said Harry, changing the subject. Neville perked up at that.

"Cheers! What should we do?"

"Ron, are you in?" Harry asked.

"I'm in for anything that gets Lestrange, you know that."

"What's the plan?"

Harry thought for a moment. "Well, what haven't we done yet?"

"There was the balloon filled with bubotuber pus . . . that was good."

Ron laughed. "Yeah, it was also first year."

"But a classic, you must admit."

"We should rule out bubotuber pus," said Harry, "it's a bit out of season."

"Venomous Tentacula in the prefects' bathroom?" suggested Ron. Neville cringed.

"That backfired last time. Almost drowned poor Ernie Macmillan."

"But the intent was dead on."

Harry's mind whizzed. This he was good at. The impromptu pranks were Neville's area, but the premeditated stuff . . . this was his. He listened to Ron and Neville reminisce and debate for a while before a slow smile spread across his face.

"Mates," he said. "This is going to be good."

---

Elizabeth pushed a flyaway bit of hair out of her face and ended up smudging dirt on her nose. Since her whole hand was covered in moist potting soil, she couldn't wipe it away, so she left it. She was trying to replant a puffapod before the third years' Herbology class gathered their pods. This was a very delicate process as the slightest jolt could dislodge the useful things that the younger students would collect and the floor of the greenhouse would burst into bloom, making for tedious clean up time. Finally, the bell rang announcing the end of the period and the end of Elizabeth's long day.

She stood to gather her books, avoiding the urge to brush her hands off on her robes, but found someone solid standing in her way.

Nate stood between her and her things. She smiled at him; he'd been remarkably silent all day. When he didn't reply, she stepped around him and walked to the table.

"See you later, Nate," she said, going to her bag.

"Here, let me get that," he said quickly, taking it from her. She stepped back in surprise.

"Oh! Well, thank you."

Awkwardly, the two of them walked out of the greenhouse and across the grounds. Elizabeth cast a glance back at Jonas, who walked behind them, and shrugged. Nate said very little as they walked across the grass to the castle entrance. Elizabeth stopped by the girl's bathroom on the second floor where she uneasily excused herself, washed her hands, then came back to Nate, still holding her book bag.

"Thank you," she said, taking her bag back.

"Oh, you're welcome," he said. He smiled at her again, then leaned forward and brushed at her nose. He was so close she could've counted the light freckles across his cheeks, and she definitely caught a hint of his cologne . . . something woodsy that kind of made her swoon. What on earth . . . ?

"You had dirt on your nose," he said quietly, his smile fading only slightly. She blushed, but he didn't look away. His eyes were a hazy green, almost jade. She hadn't noticed that before. Did she just imagine that look that passed behind them? That maybe . . . his feelings for her went beyond apathy? They didn't say anything for a few moments, but then Elizabeth caught sight of Jonas standing just down the corridor, looking odd.

"Well, I think I'm going to go to the library," she said. _Nate really is quite good-looking_, she thought to herself. Suddenly, she didn't know whether she really wanted him to go. "But I'll see you later?"

Nate gave a small laugh, almost embarrassed, and smiled again. "Yeah, I guess you will." They didn't move for a second, then both laughed slightly and passed each other. She took a deep breath and continued to meet Jonas, chancing a last glance at Nate. To her surprise, he was still standing there, watching her walk away. She smiled at him sheepishly, tucked her hair behind her ear, then turned the opposite direction and quickened her pace.

"What do you think about Nate Dashwood?" she asked Jonas as they walked together to study before dinner in the library.

"The same thing I thought of him last year," he said shortly. There it was, the tone that matched his look.

"What's the matter?" she asked. "You didn't get in trouble today, did you?"

"No," he answered. There it was again!

"Do you need to see Madam Pomfrey?"

"No, I'm not ill. I'm just . . . tired. Can we not talk anymore?"

Elizabeth looked at him as they walked for a moment, then decided not to press it. "Okay," she said, sounding a little hurt despite herself.

Their time in the library passed very slowly. Jonas didn't say a word to her the whole time, and she could have sworn he didn't turn a page in his Transfiguration text the entire three hours they spent sitting at the table. A disturbance in a row nearby was the only break in the near silence of the library. Madam Pince escorted both of their brothers out by the ear, Ron chuckling a few paces behind. She rolled her eyes and reminded herself to stay clear of them for the next few days lest she be the accidental recipient of a balloon full of bubotuber pus (a prank so "classic" that they had pulled it more than once). Elizabeth bit her quill and tried to concentrate, but by the time they decided to leave for dinner, she had barely written a paragraph in her essay on Jupiter for their Astronomy class.

They dropped their bags in the dormitory and continued down to dinner. Elizabeth wished Jonas would start talking, and if she wasn't so certain he was upset with her, she would have eaten dinner with someone else. But the way Jonas stabbed his lamb clearly sent a message that something had upset him. And it had happened sometime today.

After dinner the time came for Elizabeth to go to Practical Defense, and she half expected Jonas to just leave her at the Great Hall and continue up to Gryffindor Tower on his own. Instead, he accompanied her up the marble stairs to the first floor and Professor Levinsky's classroom.

"I'll see you later, Jonas," said Elizabeth, and he continued on in silence. Elizabeth opened the door and stepped into a completely different room than she remembered. The tables and chairs had been removed, and the shutters on the windows were wide open, revealing the moody twilight outside. It was strange to be in class this late in the evening. Most of her classmates were already there, seated on the floor in the middle of the room, whispering excitedly to each other. Harry and Neville were lounging back on their hands near the wall, Ginny and Hermione next to them obviously eager to see what Professor Levinsky had in store for their first lesson. Ron sat just in front of them, fingering his wand nervously, sometimes adding a bit of conversation to Ginny and Hermione. Elizabeth went over and sat with them, shoving her bag against the wall with the others and placing her wand in her lap.

She didn't notice him at first, the thin silhouette sitting apart from the group. The feeling that came over her was strange; as if there was a presence there she hadn't ever felt before. It was almost like a chill, but it wasn't cold . . . like when she held a wand and forced her magic through it. The same feeling that went through her fingertips went coursing through her body, as if a great wave of magic went through her head and out through her toes. The abrupt entrance of Professor Levinsky, however, broke her concentration and things returned to normal.

"The class will come to order," came Professor Levinsky's traditional greeting. All whispers ceased, but the buzz of excitement didn't. Elizabeth waited with rapt attention, her eyes fixed on the most revered professor in all of Hogwarts.

And he was so with good reason. Aside from his commanding air and tough military demeanor, Professor Levinsky just looked impressive. He was tall and square-jawed, and his features were sharp and precise, much like his teaching methods, but not severe. There was wisdom in his face born of horrors beyond any of their comprehension, but his eyes were untouched. They were two bright dots of cobalt blue set behind a curtain of greying brown fringe. Now, as he leaned back against his desk to address the students, those brilliant eyes caught the gaze of each individual student. Elizabeth swore she caught a slight wink when he looked at her.

"Welcome to Practical Theory and Training of Defense Against the Dark Arts," he said after a moment's proper silence in his no-nonsense baritone. "This class is designed for those students who wish to pursue a singularly keen interest in Defense, or perhaps a career in Defense. We will be exploring subjects of a most advanced and mature nature, and we will approach subject matter that may be disturbing to some of you. As such, this class is not for the faint of heart, or those with the idea that this class will be anything but intense and serious. I reserve the right to permanently remove anyone from this class at any time throughout the term, and trust me; you will not be coming back."

No one moved. Elizabeth was impressed. There were only a few students that didn't belong to the D.A., and even they were highly interested, to say the least. Professor Levinsky seemed somewhat satisfied and wasted no time.

"Partner up," he said. Immediately the room gravitated into pairs. Ginny grabbed Harry's hand and the two were off toward a corner, while Hermione and Neville stood next to each other. Elizabeth stood and made her way to Ron, but before she could make contact with him, Cho Chang cut her off.

"Oh, I'm sorry, Elizabeth, did you want to partner Ron?" asked Cho, though her body language clearly indicated that only when hippogriffs clipped their wings and decided to serve the Lestranges afternoon tea would she give him up. Elizabeth just smiled and shook her head.

"No, you go ahead," she said. "I'll find someone else."

By now everyone in the room was already in a pair, awaiting directions from Professor Levinsky. Elizabeth made her way through the crowd, now spread more evenly across the room, looking for someone to partner her. She began to panic just a little bit. However much she liked Professor Levinsky, she did not want to be his guinea pig. Hoping against all hope someone was left without a partner, Elizabeth squeezed past the last two couples and into the empty space near the door.

And there he was. Alone, of course. She knew immediately who he was: the exchange student everyone talked about. He must be, because anyone as perfect in appearance as he would not have gone unnoticed before now. Whatever rumors she had heard didn't do him justice. He was like an icy angel: cold as steel but perfect in form. If he was made of anything, it was ice. His skin was a snowy white, not pasty but rather it looked as if the pigment had been purged from it, leaving behind a soft, alabaster shell. His carriage was that of affluence and breeding, and he had an unnervingly alluring air. His hair fell flawlessly into his eyes, drawing all interest to the stony jewels. It was his eyes that were truly remarkable: heavy silver-grey and captivating, with a sharp intelligence and deep as pools of frigid water. And yet, for all their beauty and depth, they possessed a certain hollowness, a lifelessness that betrayed an almost inhuman serenity.

He smiled at her with an immaculately calculated smile that strangely seemed to alter his features very little.

"I suppose everyone else is taken," he said. His voice stirred something inside her, and she smiled back at him for no real reason she could think of.

"Yeah," she said apologetically. She couldn't think of anything better to say.

"I am Draco," he said, grace and manners exuding from every syllable.

_Draco_, she thought. _The white dragon. His parents must be mythology enthusiasts._

"I'm Elizabeth," she answered. He inclined his head in almost a bow.

"I am honored to meet you, Elizabeth."

"The class will come to order," called Professor Levinsky. Elizabeth and her fellow classmates fell silent, awaiting instructions.

"Today we will be studying basic dueling practices," he said, pacing the room with his hands clasped behind his back. "We will not be casting any actual hexes until next week, but you have to learn how a duel is structured. Now, I'm certain you are all clever enough to know that most of your enemies will not follow the rules of engagement, and we will be addressing that issue later. But for tonight, I want you to practice blocking and disarming. Allow me to demonstrate."

It all happened in a matter of milliseconds. Professor Levinsky pulled his wand out of his belt, flipped it in the air, struck a perfect dueling stance and bellowed "_Expelliarmus_!" pointing his wand at Harry. Harry, occupied with his arm around Ginny's waist and nose in her hair, jumped as his wand flew out of his hand and into Professor Levinsky's. The class erupted in laughter as both Ginny and Harry turned tomato red. Levinsky strode toward them and handed Harry back his wand, turning it in his fingers first and extending the handle toward him.

"That kind of partner work outside of my class, Potter," he said. Harry nodded sheepishly while Elizabeth laughed behind her hand.

"Order," barked Levinsky and again there was quiet. Ginny was angry at Harry for embarrassing her in front of the class, but Harry quickly gained ground: they were already back to holding hands. Elizabeth shook her head.

"All right, now that we know how disarming works, let's see if Potter can block it this time."

Now he had been given fair warning, and Elizabeth watched somewhere between annoyance and admiration as her brother struck a dueling pose with a beckoning look on his face. He loved this.

Professor Levinsky, whose tactics were slightly less formal, jabbed his wand out, calling the spell again. Harry ducked and it went whizzing past his ear, and Professor Levinsky cast it once more. This time, Harry twisted his wand once in his hand and waved it just in front of the oncoming spell. The class gasped as it ricocheted off of an invisible barrier and dissipated. Everyone applauded.

"Well done, Potter," said Levinsky, helping him up off the floor. He turned to the class. "Get to work."

Elizabeth saw Neville and Hermione routinely casting the spell at each other, sometimes disarming, sometimes managing to block, but never anything more than practicing the mechanics of it. Harry showed Ginny the finer points of the blocking maneuver while flirting up a storm. Ron and Cho, however, were clearly not getting anything done, since apparently Ron wouldn't cast a spell at a lady. A soft sound behind her reminded her of her own partner.

"I suppose we should practice," she said, turning to him.

"Would you like to cast first or shall I?" he asked. Elizabeth floundered.

"Er . . . I guess I will," she said. Being disarmed by a strange boy went against everything her mother ever taught her. She chuckled at her mental joke and tried to imitate her brother's dueling stance. Both had been taught basics by their father, but Harry always garnered the most attention in this area. Elizabeth once asked her father why he didn't teach her as much about dueling as he taught Harry, and he answered that he might not be able to keep Harry out of the war, but he was going to do everything in his power to protect her. She was rusty, but she still remembered the feeling of the disarming spell, that gasp from her stomach as the spell flew through her wand, and the temporary sensation of being winded afterward. She kicked up her front foot and jabbed her wand at Draco, not surprised at the strength of the feeling in her gut, but still a little jarred by it. The surprise came when the spell hit Draco squarely in the chest and his wand sailed through the air on a zigzag pattern to land at her feet. She had fully expected him to block her.

A flicker of something like astonishment passed over Draco's face as he looked at his wand. Elizabeth bent down and picked it up tentatively, extending it handle outward to its owner. Draco took it gratefully, but didn't mince words as the two began to amicably cast the spell back and forth at each other.

Time passed quickly without a word, and so when Professor Levinsky called, "Take a seat," and conjured chairs arranged in a circle, they barely noticed any time had gone by at all. Elizabeth gave Draco a parting smile, which he returned with his bow-like head inclination, then quickly crossed to steal a seat between her brother and Ron before Cho could get there. Hermione wisely wedged herself between Harry and Ginny, so Neville was left to sit on the other side of Ron.

"Sorry about the whole Cho thing," whispered Ron.

"Don't worry about it," said Elizabeth. "I felt more sorry for you."

"He didn't seem too sore about it," interjected Neville. "Considering he spent the whole time trying to get in good with her."

"Oh, Ron, you didn't."

Ron turned red. "Well . . ."

Neville burst out laughing, and Elizabeth rolled her eyes. She couldn't blame Ron for wanting to partner up, considering Harry and Ginny were together, and Neville and Hermione were as good as. It was hard being the fifth wheel. She could vouch for that.

"Order," said Levinsky and they were quiet again. He leaned back in his chair. "So . . . how was it?"

Everyone laughed. Colin Creevy had disarmed himself more often than his partner, and there were very few who mastered the blocking maneuver. Hannah Abbott was still apologizing for her wand hitting Justin Finch-Fletchey squarely in the nose when he disarmed her, even though it hadn't been her fault. There were a few other minor mishaps, but mostly the class had been . . .

"Boring," said new Chaser Noah Smith. "Disarming is easy. I thought this was an _advanced_ class."

"You may leave this class any time you wish, Mr. Smith. The door is always open."

Noah didn't move. Levinsky gave him a stare that made everyone else in the room uncomfortable, much less Noah. When everyone had fidgeted long enough, Harry ventured a comment.

"I think, Professor," he said, "that it's much harder to cast spells on someone you're close to. If you're facing an enemy, it'd be easier to actually try to defeat them."

Levinsky looked concerned but not surprised. "But Potter, what if that enemy _is_ someone that you're close to? That is a fact that most of you so innocently refuse to consider. This war . . . you can never know who is on what side. You must always keep your guard up; keep your secrets in, because even that person that you love very much and would do anything for could be across the line when the fighting starts. What would you do then, Potter?"

"With all due respect, sir, even if they are someone you love very much, they're still the enemy, and I'd do anything in my power to bring them down. If they'd betrayed me like that, then they deserve what's coming to them."

"You say that now, Mr. Potter, but have you ever been betrayed like that? The ultimate betrayal? Have you ever been standing toe to toe with someone you thought was your best friend but turned out to be everything you thought you were fighting against? Men who have done that have never had murder first in their thoughts. You think of your first meeting, of all the times you shared together, of the schemes you've hatched, and the lives you built. Then you think about it all as a lie, and you get angry. But only for a moment, because even if it all was a lie, those were still some of the most important things that have ever happened to you. Show me a man who can think all of those things and still kill his friend, and I will concede defeat."

There was another highly uncomfortable silence in which Professor Levinsky looked very far away. After a moment, however, he checked his watch and glanced up at them all. "Good lesson. Be here promptly at six next Tuesday. Class dismissed."

Elizabeth went to look for Draco to tell him goodnight, but Hermione caught up with her step and she had no choice but to leave the room with her.

"That turned out to be a highly informative lesson," she said. Elizabeth nodded her agreement.

"Yes," she said. "I'm just glad we don't have homework. I have enough from Professor Slughorn as it is. Two and a half rolls of parchment on the basic properties of the Moonshine Potion. It's ridiculous."

"Just you wait, it gets worse. If you need any help, just let me know, I'll be happy to oblige."

"Thanks, Hermione."

Hermione parted ways with her at the Charms corridor to go with Harry, Neville, Ron, and Ginny. Elizabeth continued up the stairs on her way to the owlery.

She loved the owlery at night. The wide windows opened up onto the stars winking in the sky, and the soft rustle of feathers remained always in the background as the nocturnal animals swooped in and out of the windows. Tonight a cool breeze blew around her as she stood watching them, thinking about the world beyond Hogwarts, and what Professor Levinsky said about the ones you love . . .

"Sickle for your thoughts."

Elizabeth jumped the sudden voice behind her. She whirled around to see who was there, but the figure was shrouded in shadow.

"Show yourself," she said, one hand on her wand. The figure timidly put a foot forward and stepped somewhat into the dimming light.

"It-it's just me . . ." he said tremulously. Jonas' face appeared from the darkness and Elizabeth relaxed.

"Didn't anyone ever tell you not to sneak up on someone like that?" she said exasperatedly.

"I . . . I'm sorry." He'd changed track mid-thought. He always did that around her. It seemed as though he'd gotten over whatever had upset him earlier, though, so she forgave him, though she still wondered exactly what had set him off.

"It's fine. I suppose I'm just a little jumpy after Levinsky's class. You know, 'Constant Vigilance!' and all that. We always said he and Moody would make a wonderful pair."

Jonas kicked a little at the floor. "What are you doing tonight?" he asked.

"Ugh, writing that essay for Slughorn," she said. "Why do you ask?"

"Oh, no reason." It didn't appear so. "It's quite dark, we should go."

Elizabeth took one last look out of the window. "All right then."

They walked down the stairs side by side, Elizabeth's mind lost on what Levinsky had said. There was no way Jonas could ever betray her. They had known each other since before they could cast spells. He got a little ahead of her and she watched the back of his head as he descended the stairs. His somewhat mousy, dark brown hair flipped oddly in the back; like some wind had blown it sideways and he hadn't bothered to fix it. Each step was like a hop, his gait like that of a young gazelle. Actually, it was quite amusing when she thought about it. No, someone as gentle as Jonas could never betray her.

"Jonas," she said. He stopped and turned to face her.

"What?"

She descended the stairs to him, looking directly at him all the while. His hazel eyes were trained on her in wide-eyed curiosity and his sweet face held nothing but innocence. She smiled at him, then threw her arms around his neck in a tight embrace.

"Wha- . . ." he managed. He awkwardly slipped his hands around her back and held her loosely.

"I just . . . wanted to give you a hug," she said, pulling back. He looked somewhat stunned. "Well, let's get back to the common room. Don't want to be caught out-of-bounds."

"Right . . ." said Jonas as she descended the stairs. She smiled to herself, relieved. At least things were back to normal.

An icy chill ran through her just before they'd reached the portrait hole. She stopped suddenly and turned. The corridor was empty, just as she'd expected, but before she turned back to climb into Gryffindor Tower, she caught a glimpse of a handsome silhouette and feather-light blonde hair. Shaking herself of it, she followed Jonas into the common room. It had been an unexpected breeze in the hallway. Coincidence, nothing more. And tomorrow it would all go away.

---

School continued to trudge on, although Harry found that he could achieve solace in Quidditch training. The match against Slytherin, the first match of the season, was in a little less than two months, but, as Ron would brag, they were ready _now_. Harry had never seen three Chasers work so well together, and Neville's Keeper skills were warming back up after a slightly rusty spell. The reserve players sat in on every training session, but never really did more than watch. Harry knew the Gryffindor team was usually prone to game-threatening injuries, and he wanted his reserves to be prepared.

The prank against Marius Lestrange was scheduled to go off in just a few days. He, Neville, and Ron had spent the last week in the library trying to put the finishing touches on their spells. A smile pulled at the corners of his mouth as he thought about the results that were certain to come.

It had been two weeks since the start of their Practical Defense classes and Professor Levinsky still wouldn't let them use their wands beyond Disarming and Blocking. And at the end they would all come together and discuss what they had learned that day. Part of Harry told him that Levinsky was looking for someone to say the right thing in their discussions before moving on. He always got that glint in his eye, that one when they were _just_ missing the point behind precautionary wards or something in his regular Defense class. That aggravating look.

Harry plodded up to Gryffindor Tower with Hermione and Neville one afternoon after meeting them at the greenhouses. They'd both continued on in Herbology, and Harry and Ron usually met them after they'd spent a good two hours in the library "studying". Today Ron had made his excuses and spent those two hours instead . . . well, Harry didn't really know where. He hadn't worried about it, assuming that he was practicing or taking a break from the constant workload. So it was only the three of them that passed through the portrait hole and into the common room.

"SURPRISE!"

Harry nearly jumped out of his skin when he looked up and saw the whole of Gryffindor House gathered before him. Ron stood in the forefront, his arms held wide, beaming at the balloons and streamers and general chaos that had engulfed the room. Large, spinning, sparkling objects bounced freely about the room. Harry's mouth dropped.

"Ron, are those . . .?"

"Filibuster Fireworks!" he exclaimed. "Yes they are!"

Harry couldn't understand quite what was going on, but he didn't have to wonder much longer. As Hermione and Neville drew level with him, a terrible blush crept up Hermione's face.

"Happy birthday, Hermione," said Ron, his glowing face dimming just a little waiting for her response. Hermione surveyed the bedlam before her (Harry could tell she was battling with the prefect inside her – Filibusters were banned by Filch) with a look Harry couldn't quite discern. It was something in the middle of astonishment, reproach, and gratitude. She stared around the room, and everyone waited for her to speak.

"Ron," she said uncertainly, "I thought you . . ."

Neville suddenly burst out laughing beside her. Ron's face slid from joy to confusion. Everyone stared at Neville until Harry could no longer hold it in, either, and laughed right along with his friend.

"What were you thinking, Ron?" he asked. Ron looked a bit green.

"You've never paid attention to birthdays before, mate," said Neville. "Why all this?"

Ron turned a strange shade of red and green together. "She turned seventeen . . . that's special . . . in our family . . . our mum . . ." He trailed off.

Harry did feel a little bad about laughing, but really, Ron was being ridiculous. If anyone should be throwing Hermione a party, it should be Neville. And she certainly didn't look as if she wanted all the fuss.

"You're a dolt. How much money did all this cost you?" Ron mumbled something intelligibly. "You really should have asked . . ."

"I think Hermione can speak for herself, can't she?" piped Lavender Brown from somewhere behind Ron.

"I think it's pretty clear from the look on her face that Hermione's not happy," said Neville.

Ron put on a face and tried not to look crushed. He beseeched Hermione with his eyes. "Are you . . . do you not like it?" he asked.

Hermione looked desperately from Harry to Neville to Ron and at the disorder around her. Floundering, she said tightly, "Well, Ron, you really shouldn't have gone to all the trouble . . ."

Ron's jaw twitched. Neville put a hand on Hermione's arm and started leading her away. "It's not that I don't appreciate it, Ron," she said, and clearly there was more, but Neville had already started convincing her to just go to the library.

Ron watched the portrait hole long after they were gone. The crowd behind him gave sympathetic looks, but generally everyone milled around and headed down to the Great Hall for supper. Harry waited a few awkward minutes as the fireworks bounced around them and Ron continued to stare.

"Well, I guess I'll just—" he began.

"Oh no, you don't," hissed a voice next to him. He looked down to see Ginny latched onto his arm, pulling him back toward her brother. "You are going to stay right here and help clean up!"

She didn't seem to want to be trifled with, and she set him to work tearing down streamers as she went to comfort her brother.

It took the three of them quite a while to clean up the decorations, the fireworks putting up quite a fight. Finally, and well into supper, they sat down and Vanished the pile of rubbish in front of them. It wasn't long before students started returning from the Great Hall, none of them making eye contact with Ron or Ginny or even Harry. When Hermione and Neville came in, she smiled weakly at Ron, then continued toward her stairs. When they'd reached the foot of her stairs, however, they parted strangely. Neville tried to pull her in closer, but she put her hand on his shoulder and nudged him away, shaking her head, then she continued up to her bedroom rather moodily. Neville simply crossed his arms and walked up the boys' staircase. Harry looked over to see if Ron had noticed this, but the redhead was staring resolutely at the floor. Suddenly, Harry's curiosity got the better of him.

"Ron . . . do you, er . . . like Hermione?" he asked.

"Of course I like her, she's my friend, isn't she?"

Harry knew this was going to make him angry, but he continued. "No, that's not what I mean." He looked at Ginny beseechingly, but she just shook her head. _You asked, not me_. He cleared his throat. "Do you, you know, like her . . . more than a friend?"

Ron gave him a sharp look, but Harry could've sworn he turned red for just a second. "'Course not, why would you think that?"

_The way you go red and shut up whenever she's around_, thought Harry. But the way Ron had finished his sentence ended the conversation. Harry kicked at a piece of missed streamer.

"Maybe we shouldn't do this prank on Lestrange," said Harry. Ron snatched the thing off the ground.

"Why not?" he demanded.

"Well, because you're head's not in it, and that makes for a dangerous operation."

Ron glared at him. "You want me out of it? You want it to just be you and Neville?"

"That's not what I—"

"Forget it, I'm pulling myself out. You and Neville can get on with it. I quit."

With that he stomped off up the stairs. Hopelessly, Harry stared after him, then looked at Ginny. "Wha—" he began.

"Not my problem," Ginny said cheerily. She stood up on tiptoe and kissed him on the cheek. "You have to admit you're really clueless half the time."

And for the second time that night Harry watched a Weasley walk away without having any clue what they'd been blabbering on about before they left.


End file.
